Through the Storm We Reach the Shore
by LJ9
Summary: A few years have passed, and this time Merida's the one who's requested a gathering. Maybe with a wider guest list she'll have a better chance of finding a husband.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the main characters herein, who belong to Disney, Pixar, Dreamworks, and Cressida Cowell.

YES this title was stolen from "With or Without You" by U2 and NO it doesn't have much to do with the story, nor do I feel particularly bad about ganking it.

Thank you to my twin, who is there to remind me that I shouldn't expect people to automatically go with the Elizabethan usage of words.

Elfy, mīn spell-wine, I certainly hope you like this.

As you read you may have questions. I hope in future chapters most of them will be answered. And I hope you all enjoy it!

* * *

Uh-oh. His dad had his Extra Serious Chief Business face on. Hiccup dropped into the chair opposite him without being asked; Toothless would just have to wait until Stoick shared whatever news had him so concerned.

"I've had a letter," he began, and there it was on the table, the vellum pale against the wood. Letters weren't common at all. If one had found its way up to Berk, something really important must have been going on somewhere. "Do you remember DunBroch?"

It'd been a while, since before his mom… "Yeah, I guess." There'd been a sea voyage that had felt long for a young boy, and at the end a strange stone building that loomed above a lake. The family that lived there had been a lot like his: a burly, brawny dad, a mom who was much stronger than she looked, and one child. The chieftain of DunBroch's heir was a daughter, named Merida. She had untamed spirals of red hair unlike anything he'd ever seen and clear blue eyes. She also had a tendency to glare and stamp her feet when she was angry, and to giggle mischievously when her dad indulged her. When they'd visited, Hiccup hadn't been old enough to be embarrassed around girls yet, so Merida had liked him. Or at least she'd treated him with the same bluff affection she had for her dad's hunting dogs. He hadn't minded it, actually.

"They…" Stoick seemed lost for words. "Well. You might as well read it for yourself." He slid the letter forward and Hiccup noted the thick wax seal as he unfolded it. The message inside was written in a sophisticated, flowing hand that couldn't be more different from the hasty scrawling that resulted when anyone on Berk had the need to write something down.

_To Stoick the Vast, chieftain of the Hairy Hooligan tribe of Berk,  
from Fergus, chieftain of Clan DunBroch and chosen king of Alba,  
greetings.  
We hope this missive finds you and your people well and prosperous. Our eldest daughter and heir to the throne, Merida, has reached a marriageable age, and we hope to help her find a suitable husband, one who will be a fitting consort for our future queen, an ally to our people in times of both peace and hardship, and a companion for the rest of our beloved daughter's days. To that end we invite the sons of our fellow chieftains to attend a fortnight-long gathering for the purpose of finding such a match among our noble neighbors. It is our fond wish that you and Hiccup will be able to join us at the next full moon.  
With hopes of a renewed friendship, we are ever  
Fergus  
by the hand of Her Majesty Elinor, Queen _

The addendum wasn't really necessary, Hiccup thought, especially after the king's much less practiced signature. He reread the words, certain he'd understood them the first time through but just wanting to make sure. When he looked up Stoick was watching him expectantly.

"That's…some letter there, huh."

His dad seemed relieved that he wasn't angry or something. If he was going to be perfectly honest, Hiccup wasn't sure how he felt. Some days he wished he was still the useless one that everyone bossed around and no one trusted with anything important. "What do you think?" Stoick asked him.

He glanced down at the letter, where the words _suitable husband_ seemed bolder and bigger than the rest. Did they remember him at all? Could they possibly have thought he'd grown up to be like his dad, who was more suitable and fitting and all the other adjectives the queen had used? "They must be kind of desperate to be writing all the way up here. There've got to be possibilities closer than Berk."

Stoick nodded slightly. "Closer, maybe, but not better." His son managed to look both pleased and incredulous at the same time as his eyes scanned the letter, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

"It says they're looking for an ally." That could mean they were expecting trouble, or just that they were smart enough to plan ahead. Judging from the queen's careful phrasing, it was easy to believe she was smart enough. An alliance could also mean more trade for Berk. "It wouldn't hurt to have ties to the mainland," he mused.

"That's true enough. It doesn't mean you have to sacrifice anything on our behalf, though."

Hiccup cocked his head and smiled wryly. "Anything else, you mean."

"I mean it, son. We can say no." Between the two of them they could probably even manage to do it in a way that wouldn't offend anybody. But this could be good for the tribe. The odds of the princess picking him to marry were slim, but they could build goodwill, make contacts for trading, renew the friendship his dad had once had with the Highland king. And besides, he was curious.

He shrugged one shoulder. "It's not a big deal. I'll go. I really doubt she's going to pick me of all the guys there."

"If you're sure."

"Yep." He sounded more confident than he felt.

"Then I suppose we'd better let them know we're coming."

As he wrote a message back, Hiccup wondered if they knew about the dragons. He'd already had to fight with half of the village over the fact that he wouldn't allow the dragons to be used as offensive weapons; he sure wouldn't let some foreign kingdom have that kind of power. Then again, if they didn't know, they would as soon as one showed up with a message. Better send someone with enough common sense not to fly right up to the castle and probably get themselves shot in the process. That left Fishlegs or…

Astrid.

* * *

"And that's the Macintoshes," the queen said, dropping a reply onto the table.

There was still one more yet to be answered. Merida hoped this would all turn out differently than it had done previously—including that no magic would be involved. This time she had to choose, whether or not she loved any of the suitors.

When she'd told her parents that she wanted to call another gathering they'd actually tried to talk her out of it. "You have time, dear," her mum had assured her. "You needn't rush to choose."

"Don't tell me you _like_ one of them," her dad had scoffed.

Ever since the first gathering, Elinor and Fergus had been careful not to push her into deciding anything about her future, especially as they first had to spend time together, fortifying their familial bonds. Though the lords had agreed to give their children time, Merida suspected that they were not letting their sons off quite as easily as her parents were her. She and the heirs had started to correspond; no more than a week after they'd left the first letter arrived, and one came nearly once a week after that. From their letters she learned a few things about the lads—walnuts gave Wullie Dingwall hives and Domnall MacGuffin didn't care much for swimming—but none of the letters contained any words that made her feel anything more than amiable toward any of them. Maybe, she'd thought with forced optimism, it just wasn't possible for a mere letter to contain their true spirit; maybe they needed to meet again to fall in love. It had to be easier to choose face-to-face.

The more time had passed, the stronger she had felt about it. None of the clans had started grumbling yet, but the lords weren't the most patient of men under ideal circumstances; they had to be chafing at the bit as they waited. And if her lessons taught her anything, it was that crowns always perched precariously on royal heads. The slightest provocation could send the crown tipping off, often followed by the head itself. She couldn't do anything that would make the nobles doubt her father's position, or doubt that she should succeed him, not after she'd been raised to become the queen, been entrusted with all the things her parents knew of ruling. The kingdom needed the stability that came from a clear line of succession, and no one, including the triplets themselves, wanted to see rule pass to one of her brothers if anything happened to her. It would be better for her to pick a husband, produce an heir, and get on with ruling.

And she might have been a little lonely. Her parents were so fond of each other, so affectionate and happy together, that she would have needed a heart of stone not to want that for herself. Her mum and dad seemed so perfectly matched that sometimes she despaired of ever finding anyone who would fit with her that well, who could know her inside and out and love her all the same. It didn't help that she was a princess. Girls who weren't princesses got to meet men, dance and flirt and steal kisses and eventually decide to marry; it was distinctly harder to get to know a young man when all he could do around you was bow and stutter, peeking over his shoulder to make sure no one was going to haul him off before the king for saying the wrong thing to the princess. Marrying one of the young lords wouldn't be perfect, but it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, either. Maybe one of them was secretly romantic and was just waiting for the right time to come in and sweep her off her feet.

And maybe Angus would sprout wings and fly.

The previous spring they'd all been invited to Wee Dingwall's wedding. When the invitation had arrived she'd been surprised and even a bit disappointed; though they both knew they didn't love each other they'd become friends through their correspondence, and Merida couldn't help but feel hurt that he hadn't told her before of his betrothal. But when she met the bride-to-be and saw the way the young lord looked at his intended, utterly smitten, Merida couldn't be upset. Lord Dingwall had spent the whole ceremony torn between agony over his son's missed chance with the princess and pride that he'd found a willing wife, and before any of the other heirs to boot.

That left the Macintosh and MacGuffin heirs to contend for her heart and hand. The decision wasn't much clearer, even with the field narrowed to two: just when she thought Ewan Macintosh had the advantage with his description of a favorite hunting spot, Domnall MacGuffin would send a pressed flower and the story of how he'd seen it and thought of her. She suspected that the big lad fancied her and it made anxiety swirl through her stomach, unsure as she was of how she felt about him, and whether it would be crueler to marry a man whose feelings she might never match or to break his heart all at once by choosing someone else.

When Elinor had suggested broadening the search beyond the original suitors Merida had agreed, only later considering how much more exhausting that could make the whole ordeal. They'd sent invitations to men of good repute throughout the kingdom, common as well as noble. And then one afternoon Fergus had emerged from a council session looking unusually grave. Mother and daughter exchanged concerned glances but left him be until he was ready to speak.

Eventually he'd asked, "Do you remember Stoick the Vast?"

She nodded to show she remembered the man, a coarser version of her father, gruff but kind in his way.

"And," Fergus had gone on more slowly, "do you remember his son?"

"Ah," she'd said, or perhaps it had been Elinor. Either way the implication was clear.

"I'll not lie to you. Clans to the north have reported more Viking raids recently—though not from Stoick's tribe, mind. And there have been…sightings."

"Of what, dear?"

Fergus had grimaced into the fire for a moment before turning to the two. "Dragons," he'd said almost sheepishly.

They'd talked, the three of them, for nearly an hour after that, and then Elinor had gone off to pen another invitation. Afterward Merida had wondered vaguely if she ought to feel outraged that her dad had even suggested such an alliance. She certainly would have done in the past, but this time all he'd done was introduce the possibility. It was a possibility that made sense. An alliance would help protect the clans; it would give them and Stoick's tribe leverage over the marauders, and assurance of mutual protection. It would be as smart as any match with a Highland lord. She saw no harm in letting a Viking try his luck, and said as much to her parents.

And then there was the matter of the dragons. Her reaction and her mum's had at first been incredulity, but her dad's cocked eyebrow and significant look at Elinor had silenced any possible denial. Witches and magical transformations existed, so why not dragons? The existence of such creatures may have been more plausible now, but that just meant the questions were more pressing: Were they in imminent danger? If so, how could they defend themselves? Fergus urged her not to worry, saying it was only rumor so far; if they'd any luck at all it would stay rumor.

Before she'd gone to her room she had popped into her brothers', where some of the books from the library had found a home. Hubert liked to read, to his mother's delight, and often forgot to return books when he was finished with them. A stack of them was on the desk in the corner, and in the midst of the pile was one that she'd hoped would help: _Faery Tales and Phantasms_.

Past the brownie and kelpie, past the unicorn and _seonaidh_, and then there it was. Dragon. The book was not as helpful as she'd dimly hoped it would be; it described the wings and tail, scales and fiery breath and love of treasure, the things that everyone just knew about the beasts. Then it went on to tell about heroes who'd faced down the dread creatures and triumphed because they were pure of heart and driven by the noble willingness to sacrifice their lives for their people and the love of a beautiful maiden. "What bollocks," she'd muttered under her breath. Driven by the desire for some of the treasure, more like, and the chance to get a wife without having to do any wooing.

Not only had the stories not told her anything she didn't already know, all the heroes in them were men. They charged in on their white horses and waved their swords around while the women stood (or swooned) patiently off to one side, only to pledge their hearts to the brave warriors who had saved them. If nothing else, it seemed that it would be easier to kill a dragon with help. Apparently proper heroes always worked alone, though.

Merida had shut the book impatiently and thought of the other part of her dad's news, staring into the fire. Stoick's son with the funny name had been relegated to distant reaches of her memory; there wasn't much more than knobby knees and dirty hands, bright green eyes and a squeaky voice and questions without end. Some of the questions he had asked, of whomever was there who might have the answer to how deep is the loch, who put up the standing stones, what is haggis made of, but with some he'd skipped the asking and gone right for the finding out himself. She'd liked that, the way his boring tendency toward thoughtfulness was kept in check by a welcome reckless streak. Now she realized that in reality it had probably been the other way around. She wondered if he'd grown out of either trait.

When the reply came her mum had dropped her fork. She'd handed over the letter without a word and Merida had scanned over the pleasantries and acceptance of the invitation until she read the words _My son and I will be traveling by dragon_. Stoick went on to assure them that the dragons wouldn't pose a threat to anyone and would stay hidden well away from the castle, but she hardly cared about that. Dragons were real, and one would be coming to DunBroch.

It might almost be enough to make the whole thing bearable.

* * *

**Note:**

A _seonaidh_ is a water spirit from the Isle of Lewis in the Hebrides.


	2. Chapter 2

Dudes, I don't think I've ever had so many follows and favorites from just a first chapter before. Thank you! I hope this chapter doesn't make you regret your decision.

* * *

He hadn't made eye contact with Astrid all through Stoick's announcement that the two of them would be traveling to DunBroch for Hiccup to try to win the princess. The responses had been predictable: jeering from the twins; protest from a few villagers who thought that Hiccup should stay, be the next chief, and marry them/their daughters/their sisters; realization slowly dawning on Snotlout's face that if Hiccup moved away, he would have a legitimate chance at the chieftaincy.

"Is this princess hot?" Tuffnut demanded.

"I'll teach you my foolproof methods," Snotlout said. "She'll be eating out of the palm of your hand in no time."

"Which you only want if she's hot."

"What's so special about some foreign girl anyway?" Ruff grumbled.

"She's not just some girl, she's the princess. That's plus ten political power, doubling or maybe even tripling, depending on the size of the kingdom, when she becomes queen. Making an alliance would increase her protection and trade profits." Unsurprisingly, no one else seemed as excited about the statistics as Fishlegs.

Astrid didn't say anything. She'd known about it already—she'd delivered the message, even after Stoick had explained what it was about. Hiccup had offered to go himself, but Dad had said that none of the other suitors would have delivered their own reply, so he shouldn't, either. Besides, it would be good for Astrid, he thought, having a diplomatic responsibility. The trip hadn't taken her very long at all, and a niggling part of Hiccup wondered if she'd actually delivered the message or just incinerated it somewhere. Anyone else would have, but it was _Astrid_. Her chief had given her the task, and she wouldn't fail to complete it.

Snotlout was already planning a going-away party, and Fishlegs kept trying to explain to an entirely uninterested Ruffnut all the advantages of a political marriage. Hiccup stole a nervous glance at Astrid, who was glowering at her mug of ale.

"You guys are making too big a deal of this," he said, trying to sound casual. "Dad and I'll go down there, he'll be diplomatic and I'll try not to embarrass myself too much, and then we'll be back. Do you really think she'll pick me? Come on." He gestured at himself to remind them all that they were talking about Hiccup, not some prize specimen of Vikinghood.

Tuff snickered and Snotlout chuckled uneasily, his plans apparently derailed, until Astrid's fists slammed into the tabletop. "Of course she will!" she snapped. "Or she should, if she's not an idiot. Haven't you been listening to Fishlegs?" All of them, including the boy in question, shook their heads. To accommodate their stupidity she went on, slower but no less forcefully. "If Hiccup marries her, she gets protection against raids. She gets allies and security. She gets dragons and the best dragon trainer in the world."

For some reason he felt the need to defend the Scots. "We'll get stuff, too. That ally thing works both ways, and it'll open up new trade for us. Who knows what kinds of new weapons we can get if we set up a good trade? And books—new ideas." That thought worked as well as he thought it would; eyes around the table lit up as they considered the possibilities. All of theirs except Astrid's, who wasn't as easily swayed by promises of shiny, dangerous things. "Anyway, it's not all about power and positioning. She wants a husband, not just a pawn. If she hasn't found someone she wants to marry before now, what makes you think it's gonna be me? I'm not exactly handsome and charming, as you might have noticed."

Astrid gave him a painfully incredulous look before exchanging glances with Ruffnut, who rolled her eyes with a little shake of her head. "Yeah, you're not exactly Thor, but you're a solid seven on looks. Personality included, you're up to eight and a half, for being crazy reckless," Ruff explained. From the slack-jawed expression on Fishlegs' face, he'd just fallen in love a little bit.

"Based on that, I'm a ten." Tuff smirked confidently.

"_Negative_ ten," his sister snapped. He tried to punch her from across the table, with no success.

"What Ruff is trying to say is that if she's not blind and totally boring, the princess will like you." Hiccup opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "Yes, enough to pick you. She'd be a moron not to."

"Astrid—"

"And don't think you can go down there and screw up on purpose to convince her not to, so you can save my feelings from getting hurt or something. This is more important than that—this is our reputation on the line. You're not going to make the tribe a laughingstock, got it?" she snarled, jabbing a finger in his direction, and he recoiled. "They need to see that we're just as good as they are."

"Then they should probably send somebody else."

"There is nobody else." She deflated too quickly, the fight fading from her. "You're the best of us."

* * *

She watched the moon go through its phases, shrinking, disappearing, and swelling, a far more tranquil reminder of the passage of time than the preparations that went on around the castle. There hadn't been this much activity at DunBroch since the last gathering, and it was heightened by the fact that this gathering would last so much longer—she'd come to believe that entrusting her future and that of the kingdom to the outcome of some game or athletic event was the height of foolishness. Fergus had balked at the idea of a fortnight, and not without reason, but Elinor agreed that Merida would need more than just a few days to make a good decision. There would still be games, and she would watch her suitors compete in them with interest, but they wouldn't decide anything—and she did her best to stay well out of it, going to lessons, practicing her manners, and standing still to be fitted for dresses when she had to, all done with an obedience the like of which no one had ever seen the princess possessed of. Her change in demeanor was the subject of much talk and speculation in the corridors; everyone agreed that she'd calmed down since the incident with the bears, but this was something more. It was hard to appreciate Her Highness' new tractability when it seemed as though a light had gone out of her eyes.

All too soon men arrived and set up camp wherever they could. From her window she watched them gather below and couldn't help but feel on the brink of being besieged. And still no dragons arrived.

The day came for the formal beginning of the gathering, and as before the queen helped her prepare to meet their guests. She stayed quiet through the bathing and dressing, but when Elinor came toward her with the wimple in hand Merida's face fell. "Not that, Mum," she pleaded, shaking her head. "I can't breathe with it on. Please."

The queen hesitated. The headdress wasn't a torture device; it was only proper dress for such a momentous occasion. On the other hand, the last time she'd forced her daughter into it hadn't had quite the intended effect. Elinor folded the length of cloth and set it aside with a tiny twinge of regret that was smothered by the relief in Merida's expression.

Her shoulders were still tense, though, and not only because her hands clutched the edge of the bench, bracing herself against the expected onslaught of the brush. Elinor worked gently, plaiting the hair back from her temples and letting the rest fall down Merida's back.

She was proud of the maturity of Merida's decision, her willingness to put the needs of the kingdom before her own desires. But alongside the pride was an ache in Elinor's heart at the sight of her normally vivacious girl acting so withdrawn, demure and quiet and frighteningly obedient. Elinor finished with her hair and squeezed Merida's shoulders before she stood.

The queen clasped her hands in front of her. Merida looked wonderful, lithe and lovely, in the dress they'd picked together. It was her expression, both sad and determined, that didn't fit the scene—didn't fit her face, which was made to laugh. Elinor faced her daughter and took her hands as she spoke.

"No matter what happens, darling, I am proud of you. Your father and I will stand behind you whatever choice you make, though we're confident that you'll make the right one."

"I wish I were," she muttered, mostly to the floor. She straightened up further, rolling her shoulders back, her countenance rather like a condemned prisoner on the way to her fate. "Any last words of advice?"

The queen could think of only one thing, words that a few years ago would have struck her as foolhardy beyond compare; but now not saying them would have been the thoughtless act, and heartless besides. She smiled easily. "Be yourself."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Merida asked, sounding incredulous and more herself than she had in days.

"I am." Elinor reached out to stroke her daughter's cheek. "Be yourself: your father's lassie, your brothers' idol, and my bonny heroine."

Merida wiped away the tear tracking down her face. "I don't understand how you can call me that. Not after what I did." She shook her head. Sometimes the whole ordeal seemed like merely a bad dream, but more often she remembered the hurt in her mother's eyes, her expression slipping from human to bear, the sound of Merida's own angry words and careless, selfish actions, and she marveled that anyone she'd hurt so much could forgive her, let alone love her.

"Why not? You saved me."

"After _you_ saved _me_."

"Oh, that," Elinor said dismissively. She produced a handkerchief and dabbed at Merida's eyes. "Well, if I'd let Mor'du have you, I'd have been a bear forever. I hadn't any choice, really." She shrugged and tucked the handkerchief away again. Merida laughed weakly.

"Thank you, Mum."

"It was my pleasure."

* * *

Despite what her mum said, Merida knew that she'd have to behave herself if she wanted this to go smoothly. She couldn't afford to be herself, not really. She had to be someone quieter and kinder, someone more patient. There was too much at stake now to be impulsive and brash; there were too many people to see if she failed. She'd need small steps, soft words, gentle smiles, and to the list she added, as she took her place beside her dad, more patience than she'd ever needed before.

The doors were flung open with the usual slightly-haphazard fanfare and their guests surged in. Merida scanned the assembly for familiar faces as they entered and arranged themselves in the hall. Both Ewan and Domnall looked the same, and why shouldn't they, since it had only been a year since they'd all last met. Of the new suitors, the minor nobles and merchants' sons and the few warriors and tradesmen, none stood out much as they assessed each other and her. With any luck some of them would see her and the competition, decide she wasn't worth the bother, and head for home at first light. She found herself searching the crowd for someone she likely wouldn't even recognize.

From the doorway there was a grumbling, followed by the sound of a solid thunk of fist against metal, and then the crowd parted. There was no mistaking the man striding through the crowd for anything but a Viking, given the size of him and the helmet; the shorter man by his side was bareheaded but dressed in some kind of leathern armor, and one foot made of metal clinked lightly against the stone floor. Merida didn't have to look to know there was a curious expression on her dad's face. That was all she managed to observe before the shouting started.

"Vikings! What are you doing here?"

"Come to raid our very king in his own hall?"

Lord MacGuffin's broad face was red, and Lord Macintosh held his sword at the ready. The two foreigners stared back impassively, though the younger's face twitched as he tried to control his expression. Merida glanced at her parents and then stepped forward and cleared her throat to quell the commotion.

But because she wasn't her mother it didn't have the desired effect, so she had to resort to taking another step, closer to where Lord MacGuffin and Lord Macintosh were all but foaming at the mouth. "My lords," she began; as expected it achieved nothing. She clenched her hands tightly in front of her, praying for patience with meddlesome men, and took a deep breath. "My lords," she repeated, as gracefully as possible at top volume, and they quieted somewhat. She continued in the same vein. "Everyone present is here at the king's pleasure, and mine. I hope all of our guests will treat each other courteously."

"Aye, Your Highness," Macintosh muttered, lowering his sword with grudging slowness.

"As my lady wishes," said MacGuffin.

She nodded to them and then to the Vikings. Fergus stood as she returned to her seat. "As the princess says, we welcome all our guests to DunBroch. Erm, might as well introduce yourselves. And keep it short this time, eh?"

Lord Macintosh sheathed his sword noisily and glared at the foreigners one last time before turning back to his liege. "From Clan Macintosh, my son and heir, Ewan Macintosh." The lordling bowed extravagantly, proud as ever.

"Domnall MacGuffin, firstborn of his clan." He smiled shyly, and Merida found herself returning the smile.

In turn all of the men introduced themselves. Some of the noblemen were already chieftains of their own small clans, and few of the others had their fathers to present them. Some were loud and boastful when it was their turn, but at least one looked ill at being made to speak in front of so many people. Through it all the Vikings waited; the older was nearly expressionless, but the younger's eyes watched his rivals keenly. Finally, when every Scot had made himself known, the Viking chieftain addressed them, and everyone in the hall grew still to hear.

"I am Stoick the Vast, chieftain of the Hairy Hooligan tribe of the island of Berk, and this is my son, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III." Hiccup, that was it. He bowed, a bit awkwardly, face strangely blank. Merida nodded.

"We thank you all for joining us here. In the coming days we will all have the chance to meet and talk as we enjoy the _friendly_ competition of the games." No matter how much her mum tried to use subtle reinforcement or how much her dad threatened, someone was going to end up getting hurt, Merida thought, watching the men jostle each other as they filed out of the hall. Boys, especially grown-up ones, really were tiresome sometimes.

A few of the suitors lingered, hoping to get a head start on the competition. The Macintoshes got there first, the elder lurking behind as his son stepped forward.

"Hullo, Princess Merida," Ewan said from the foot of the dais.

"Welcome back to DunBroch, Ewan. How was your journey?"

"I would have got here sooner if I hadn't had to wait for the rest of the men. I've just got a new stallion, you see, and he loves to run. Perhaps you'll join me for a ride later." His eyes sparkled, knowing she'd be hard-pressed to say no.

"I'd like that," she admitted. His grin widened, and his father looked triumphant. With a bow to her parents the two departed.

Domnall MacGuffin took their place. "Good day to you, Princess," he rumbled slowly, cheeks spotted with pink.

"And you, Domnall. How is your sister?" She was an adorable, chubby-cheeked blonde girl ten years old who'd been absolutely delighted to attend the Dingwall wedding and eager to show off her new dress.

He smiled wider. "Very well, highness. She asked me to send you her love." At the final word he blushed violently.

Merida winced, hoping she didn't look embarrassed as well; she'd hate for anyone to get the wrong idea, especially not poor Domnall. Flustered, he bowed hastily, eyes averted, and retreated before she could pass on her thanks to his sister.

Then Stoick and Hiccup approached. The father was much as she remembered, but the son had grown almost to the point of being unrecognizable. She tried to find something familiar in his face without appearing impolite. "Thank you for inviting us, King Fergus, Queen Elinor, Princess Merida," Stoick said.

"It's wonderful to see you again."

"We have much to talk about."

"Later," Elinor said firmly. "Are you sure your encampment is comfortable enough? We've still empty rooms here in the castle." Unlike the majority of the suitors, who were sprawled throughout the castle grounds, they had chosen a spot on the rocky lakeshore. They didn't seem worried about appearing antisocial.

Hiccup spoke up for the first time then. "For right now it would be better for our…companions to keep their distance from the others." The boy she'd known seemed closer at the sound of his voice, but the unsettling feeling of there being two of him, boy and man at once, was forgotten at the mention of their companions. The _dragons_. She leaned forward in her seat.

"Perhaps we'd better have a look at these companions of yours," Fergus suggested, scarcely able to conceal his curiosity. Merida would have laughed if she hadn't felt the same, eager and anxious and scared, the thrill of the unknown curling in the pit of her belly.

Stoick looked to his son, who shrugged. "If you want," Hiccup said. "Though it'd probably be best if we didn't attract a crowd along the way."

"Oh, aye," her dad agreed readily. "I'll just go along with you to make sure you've everything you need at your camp." He winked in a distinctly unsubtle way.

And did they suppose they would leave her behind? "What about me?" Merida burst out. "I want to go, too!"

Elinor sighed quietly. Hiccup looked from the princess to her father, hesitating just long enough for the queen to interject. "Later," she repeated. "It will arouse too much suspicion if you're seen in the company of a particular one of the suitors already."

"And our dads," she mumbled, but the damage was done and her face burned red. The prospect of seeing dragons had made her forget why they were here, but reality came crashing back at her mum's words. He was like all the others, merely trying to woo her; he probably thought his dragons would impress her. She slumped back dejectedly, reminding herself yet again that this time it was her idea and her fault.

"You'll see them soon, princess," Stoick promised gently. She managed a smile at him and sat up straight again as Fergus rose.

"Let's take a look at your camp," he said overly loudly, clapping Stoick on the shoulder. Stood next to each other the similarities between them were pronounced: the height, the dark ginger hair, the barrel chests. Together they made a fearsome pair, one that anyone with any sense would think twice about provoking. The sight made an alliance with the Vikings seem a better idea than ever.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as they were safely out of earshot of anyone not in on the secret, Fergus was full of questions. "I thought you lot were at war with the dragons."

"We were. For generations it was all the people of Berk knew. And then Hiccup showed us we'd been wrong all along."

"How?"

"By being a really bad Viking," the boy said matter-of-factly.

"By listening to his instincts instead of mindlessly following tradition. By using his skull for something other than headbutting."

Hiccup turned to Fergus. "You remember how scrawny I was back then." The king nodded; he'd been amazed that someone so small could be Stoick and Val's child. The lad was still on the skinny side, but at least he'd got taller. "Unlike some people, I couldn't exactly punch dragons out of the air, so I made a machine to try to shoot one down. And it actually worked. But when I found where the dragon had crashed, I couldn't kill him."

"Why not?" Fergus was fascinated. The boy had an unmistakable air of authority when he spoke, though at the same time he was rather unassuming.

He took a moment to answer. Admitting that he saw his own fear and weakness and failure when he looked at Toothless that first time wasn't something he ever wanted to do. He didn't want to give anyone the wrong idea about Toothless. "Lots of reasons," he said finally. "I saw that he was obviously intelligent, and afraid. No one had ever been afraid of me before, and it felt wrong."

"So what did you do?"

"I cut him loose. He could have killed me, but he didn't. I went back a few days later and realized that he was stuck in a valley in the woods because when I shot him down, I severed part of his tail. He couldn't fly. We made friends and I fixed him up with an artificial tailfin."

He'd _made friends_ with a dragon. It was like Fergus waltzing into the forest and inviting Mor'du round for tea. And as if what he'd done wasn't surprising enough, the lad talked about it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fergus began to entertain the possibility that Hiccup was at least a bit mad.

"And together they discovered why the dragons had been raiding us and led the attack on the Red Death," Stoick cut in eagerly. Hiccup looked almost embarrassed at his father's enthusiasm. There must have been more to it than that; there were some obvious omissions from their summary, beginning with what exactly this Red Death was. Fergus knew the details would come out eventually, but he hated to have a story hang unfinished.

On the lakeshore Hiccup turned to Fergus. "Do you have any weapons with you, Your Majesty?"

"Of course."

"Dragons are sensitive to them. You need to leave them behind before you meet them." The king hesitated, so Hiccup went on. "Think of it this way: you don't take weapons when you're negotiating a truce, right? I promise you, you're safe with us."

Something in the lad's earnest expression convinced him. Fergus unbuckled the claymore from his belt and pulled the dagger from his boot, handing them to Hiccup. The boy nodded and laid them on a boulder before moving further down the beach. Fergus cast one last look at his things, feeling naked without them.

"On my honor, Fergus, no harm will come to you as long as he's here." Stoick nodded at his son, now striding ahead of them and disappearing into a stand of willows. "He'll not say it himself, but the whole village owes him their lives, several times over. The dragons would have starved us out feeding the Red Death, or we'd have had to turn to raiding. Because of Hiccup we're finally at peace."

They stopped and Hiccup reappeared, followed by a creature Fergus never imagined he'd see. His mouth dropped open at the sight.

"King Fergus, this is Toothless. He's a Night Fury." The dragon studied him with startling alertness, and he understood at once what Hiccup had meant about knowing the beast was intelligent. Intelligent didn't mean not dangerous, though, and Fergus' fingers twitched for his sword as the dragon blinked. "Toothless, this is Fergus of DunBroch, the king."

"I…" He was at a loss. He'd half been expecting something that acted like a hunting hound or a horse, but the dragon, though it had dropped to its haunches with Hiccup idly scratching its neck, was no pet. "I didn't think it would be black," he managed eventually.

"Like I said, he's a Night Fury. There are other types. Different colors, different shapes and sizes."

"Oh, aye?" he asked weakly.

"Yep. Deadly Nadders, Gronckles, Hideous Zipplebacks, Monstrous Nightmares—"

"Thunderdrums," Stoick added, and Hiccup smiled indulgently.

"They all have different strengths and weaknesses, different abilities, just like the variations in any other species. I may be biased, but I think Night Furies are the best." The dragon turned his big head and rested it heavily on top of Hiccup's.

"And you flew here on him?"

"I did; Dad rides Thornado. He's sleeping," Hiccup informed both of them. Then he turned to the king with a barely-contained grin. "Do you want to go for a ride?"

Fergus blinked twice, slowly, staring at him. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that someday someone would ask him if he wanted to ride a dragon, and he found himself unsure of what his answer was. Then he thought of how disappointed his children would be if they could see him right now. If they ever found out about his hesitation, they'd disown him. He nodded, more firmly than he felt. "Aye. I do."

"Hear that, bud?" Hiccup asked Toothless, and the dragon nodded. Actually nodded. Fergus wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse about agreeing. Toothless crouched on the beach and Hiccup swung easily onto his back, prosthetic clicking into a special stirrup. Fergus hesitated again for a moment before throwing a leg over the long saddle.

The dragon jumped into the air, and Fergus tried not to watch the ground fall away beneath them. They were probably only airborne for a few minutes, but it seemed much longer; he tried not to make his relief too obvious when they finally landed.

"It's not for everyone," Hiccup said kindly as Fergus waited for his stomach to stop churning.

Stoick suggested that they tell the rest of the visitors about the dragons as soon as possible in order to minimize the possibility of anyone stumbling across them unawares. They'd find out eventually; it would be better if they found out from the source.

Hiccup accompanied the king, who still looked a little pale, back up to the castle. To take his mind off the swaying feeling that lingered in his gut, Fergus asked about their common characteristic.

"How long has it been, if you don't mind me asking?" He nodded at the boy's leg.

"Four years. I was 14."

Fergus shook his head. "And right in the middle of growing, no doubt. That must have hurt more than you care to remember. I at least had the good fortune to lose mine when I wasn't going to get any taller. How'd you lose it?"

"Toothless and I managed to bring down the Red Death, but it brought us down, too. Its tail knocked us out of the sky, and I fell. I was unconscious, so I don't really know what happened, but Toothless grabbed me the best he could. He saved my life."

Again he sounded so self-effacing. It couldn't be an act, Fergus thought; he put the dragon before himself, talked about the two of them in tandem. Another man would have given himself the glory, treated the dragon the way most treated their horses, but Toothless was more than a means of transportation to the boy. From what he'd seen before, the dragon was just as devoted to the lad as he was to it.

The king had already lost his leg when Hiccup had first met him, or first remembered meeting him. "How long ago was yours?"

"It was Merida's sixth birthday."

"That must have been a memorable birthday."

Fergus chuckled. "Aye. She got her first bow, and I got this." He patted his thigh above the polished wood peg.

"You know, if you want, I could give your leg an upgrade while I'm here. Make it a little more maneuverable." It was only when he'd finished his suggestion that he realized the king might not appreciate it. The guy did have more years of experience as an amputee than he did, after all.

Luckily Fergus just laughed. "Ah, no. I'm old-fashioned. Though I can see how the metal would come in handy. It'd surely make it harder for Merida to cut the leg out from under me again. You'll want to watch out for that," he added helpfully.

"She did that?" Messing with an amputee's prosthetic was one of the lowest things you could do. He felt disappointed in her.

Her dad didn't seem bothered, though. "Well, I was trying to kill her mum at the time." At Hiccup's dumbfounded look he laughed again and dropped a thick arm around his shoulders. "Come on, lad. We'll have a drink and I'll tell you the story."

* * *

Elinor could hardly remember the last time she'd seen Fergus so filled with awe over something. His description of the dragon was rather vague, but she got the impression of an inky beast with the expression of a particularly clever tomcat. Fergus glossed over the flight, leading his wife to the conclusion that he'd kept his eyes shut for much of it. As interested as she was in the dragons, she was far more concerned with other matters, and bided her time until Fergus had said his piece about them.

"Well?" Elinor said, finally settling into bed, where Fergus was already sprawled, having talked himself out. "What do you think of this crop of suitors?"

"Same as always, love. None of them are good enough for our daughter."

"Of course they aren't," she agreed with parental pride. She curled up on her side, and he turned his head to face her. "But what are your impressions this time around?"

Elinor was a blessing. He didn't want to imagine the state the kingdom would be in without her there to sort things out. She was brilliant, far cleverer than he'd ever hoped to be, but she never treated him like he was thick. She listened when he talked, and he loved her for it.

He curled one big hand around her waist. "The Macintosh lad looks the same as ever. Like as not, he's smarting over the fact that Wee Dingwall got himself wed first. I don't think Merida will have him, no matter how charming he tries to be."

"She doesn't appreciate artifice."

He nodded before going on. "Young MacGuffin, though, he may have a chance. He's not a bad sort, if anyone can ever understand him. And he's strong, even if he's not a good shot. Their strengths would complement each other, there." Elinor made a face as he laughed humorlessly. "But I don't know what kind of king he'd make. He's got no authority, no confidence. Merida will be the queen, but you know how some men are; they won't listen to her just because she's a lass, and if it looks as if the king is weak, they'll be open to attack."

"I wouldn't mind if she truly loved him. But the idea of her choosing a husband because he's the least objectionable pains me."

"And me. But she's determined to pick someone, so we must give her all the support she needs."

"Anyone else worth mentioning?"

"The Viking." Elinor made a noise of distaste. "Now, dear, they're a little rough, but wasn't I when we married, too? And you soon cured me of all my bad habits."

She reached up to stroke his cheek and kissed him briefly. When she broke the kiss he recaptured her lips, hand sliding up her side to pull her close. The next time they parted she was breathless and her porcelain skin, still lovely as the day they'd met, was rosy. "Almost all of your bad habits," she said, smiling coyly.

"You ought to talk to him," Fergus suggested. "He's a clever lad, and a good leader, according to his father."

"Fathers have been known to embellish upon their sons' merits when there's a crown to be had."

"Aye, but I think this one might not be. At least not as much as some of them. And Hiccup is…he's not like the others."

"Do you think she'll like him again, now that they're grown?"

"Maybe. But I hope she does."

Elinor smiled knowingly. "You just want a dragon of your own."

"You know me so well." He kissed her again and despite their concerns they fell asleep, safe with each other.

* * *

It was a speech he'd made a few times now. This time was pretty important, even though he was sure the Scots would react the same way many of the other tribes had. "Dragons exist," he said, "and most of them are not a threat to us."

As expected, a stunned silence followed; Hiccup pressed on, not giving them a chance to interrupt. "It's possible to live in peace with them. They can be partners and friends to us. But they're like any animal: if you mistreat them or threaten them, they will protect themselves. And I'll protect them, too."

"I think your laddie's touched in the head, Stoick," called a voice in the crowd, and they all laughed, though the mocking had an edge of tension to it. Hiccup let himself look bored with the attempted insult; "crazy" didn't bother him anymore. He could use crazy. Unfortunately, now that someone had had the courage to speak, others took up heckling.

"I reckon next he'll tell us that only _he_ can control the things." Another chorus of laughter and jeering greeted those words.

Right on cue there was an unearthly shriek outside, like Thor tearing apart a huge sheet of metal, followed by an explosion of blue-white light. Ever since the dragons had stopped raiding, Toothless lived for things like this, Hiccup thought, the showoff. He wondered what the noise had sounded like to someone who hadn't grown up with dragons around—pretty frightening, judging by the expressions on most of the men's faces. Maybe he could ask one of them later. At the moment they were too busy clutching their weapons and muttering what he suspected were charms against evil spirits. A guard burst in, gibbering and wild-eyed, though he was soon confused when his shouts about dragons were not met with the proper response.

The royal family was behind him, seated in their thrones. More than anything he wanted to see Merida's reaction, but to do that he'd have to be really obvious about turning around and looking. He fought down the curiosity for the moment.

"If he is the only one who can control them, I'd recommend showin' a bit more respect," the king suggested reasonably.

"Dingwall was right," MacGuffin muttered.

Macintosh cut his eyes at the other lord in disbelief. Then he demanded, "King Fergus, you believe this utter codswallop?"

"I don't have to believe it. I've seen them."

Stoick stepped forward then. Hiccup never liked having to tell the story, and by now the chief knew the details well enough to tell the parts that he'd been absent for, gleaned from Gobber and the other young ones and Hiccup himself. Besides, the boy tended to lose the plot when he went off on tangents about his inventions and plans. "For centuries Berk had been plagued by dragons that destroyed our homes and stole our livestock. Generations of Hooligans lived only to protect themselves from the dragons."

"Generations, it's been? Centuries?" Macintosh interrupted. "Why have we not known of this before now?"

"Some of the Viking tribes have not exactly had a friendly history with the Scots, either. We had lean years, with barely enough food to get us through the winter; if we'd had to contend with other human threats, we wouldn't have survived. And you think we should have revealed that weakness to outsiders?"

Macintosh's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he snapped it shut. "No," he admitted finally, though his eyes were narrowed.

"Go on with your story, Stoick," Fergus directed. Hiccup moved back as unobtrusively as possible, giving his dad the center of attention and turning slightly, angling his body away from the crowd. Their attention would be on him soon, and he didn't want to face it head-on, didn't want to deal with their incredulous scrutiny.

Stoick wasn't nearly the storyteller her dad was, but he spoke with authority and a surprising dose of humility. Time and again as he spoke he related the mistakes he'd made, how neither he nor anyone else in the village had believed in Hiccup, or even listened to him; Merida saw Hiccup shift awkwardly more than once, though his father's praise was matter-of-fact. When the story reached its climax, the giant dragon climbing into the air and fighting Hiccup and his dragon Toothless amid the clouds, she saw his chin drop, his gaze fixed on the floor a few feet in front of him.

"The Red Death fell to earth, its own fire and Toothless' burning it from the inside out. Most of our casualties came from the crash and the fireball when the Red Death hit the ground, but even so, we lost far fewer people than we would have otherwise. Between the explosion and the smoke we lost sight of Hiccup and Toothless; I was afraid we'd never find them, that they'd been incinerated or blown far out to sea somewhere beyond our help. We spotted Toothless first, lying on the beach, on his side with his wings curled around him. When he saw that there was no fire, no danger, that help had come, he opened his wings and there was Hiccup, wrapped tight in the dragon's embrace, alive."

In the silence of the hall Merida was sure she heard someone sniffle.

As Stoick explained how Hiccup's leg had been seriously injured, dozens of pairs of eyes swung to Hiccup, and then more than a few went to the king. The Viking chieftain ended by describing the foundation of the dragon academy, under Hiccup's leadership, and declaring the Hooligans' desire for a friendly relationship with the Highland kingdom.

Before anyone could react Hiccup stepped forward smoothly, head high once again. "Two dragons have traveled here with us. They're the reason we made camp apart from everyone else. If you want to see them, come talk to Stoick or me, but don't go without us. If you do something stupid and get yourself killed, King Fergus has agreed that we won't be held accountable." It wasn't the most diplomatic warning, but it ought to get the point across.

"How do we know you lot can be trusted?" It was the blue guy again. Macintosh? "You could attack us all while we sleep."

"Yeah. The first thing I'd do if I wanted to ambush a kingdom would be to get all of its warriors together and tell them how I'd accomplish my evil plot." His tone was perfectly dry, and though she could no longer see his face, Merida could imagine his blank expression.

Stoick sent his son a look. "The dragons are our companions, not our weapons. And you'll remember the princess saying we're here at her pleasure. We were invited, just as you were."

"I can assure you that you're in no danger, so long as you listen to what Hiccup says," Fergus said. Once the king had dismissed them all, the two Macintoshes marched up to Hiccup, followed closely by the boulder-like blond MacGuffins. "Take us to see the beasts," Lord Macintosh demanded sharply.

"No problem," he said easily. No sense in letting one guy wind him up, even if he was a pain. "But just the four of you—I don't want anybody to get scared and overreact."

The lord scowled at the implied slight and nodded tightly before stepping back to let Hiccup pass. "Lead the way."

"One more thing." From the way the guy was glaring at him Hiccup knew he was pushing his luck, but he just couldn't help it. And the king would back him up if he needed it, which at this point, from his short acquaintance with Macintosh, he was kind of expecting. "You'll have to leave your weapons here."

Macintosh stared, mouth hanging open and eyes bugged out wide. Combined with his wild hair, it made him look even more unstable. "You must be joking if you think I'm going to see a dragon unarmed, like I was goin' to have tea with my mum!" His voice rose steadily to a shout.

Hiccup hid a smirk. If he were going to have tea with Macintosh's mom, he certainly wouldn't go unarmed. He shrugged helplessly. "Sorry. It's for your own good, really. The dragons have developed a violent conditioned response to weapons over the years."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They're much more dangerous if they think you mean to attack."

"And here I thought you'd trained them," the lord sneered.

"They're trained, not stupid." _Unlike some people_. "And I won't put them in a position where they might have to do something they'll regret later."

Macintosh appealed to Fergus. "Your Majesty, this is absurd. Surely you can't expect us to walk up to a beast like that without any protection."

"Why not? I did. I'll only say this once more: when it comes to the dragons, do as Hiccup says."

"Look," Hiccup said, taking the knife from his belt, "I'll leave mine, too." He set it on the dais in front of the thrones. The lord glared for a while longer, but after only a brief pause the MacGuffins relinquished their daggers as well. When Macintosh's own son tossed down his knife in feigned nonchalance the man finally gave up.

The sun was hanging a hand's width above the horizon as they left the castle grounds. A dim shadow passed overhead and one of the men behind him shouted. Toothless shot toward the lake and then started to climb with powerful beats of his wings. The men were saying things, talking to each other, but Hiccup was focused on Toothless as his climb started to curve backward. He jogged to the middle of the arching stone bridge, where he stood listening and counting, eyes closed. Now would not be a good time to be wrong about what the dragon had in mind. Three…two...one…

He jumped.

Toothless growled as Hiccup landed too far forward. "Sorry, bud!" he called, scooting back and sliding his feet into the stirrups with ease, disengaging Toothless' control and taking over the steering himself. On the bridge he heard the men shout and he grinned, happy to be away from them for a minute and a little smug about scaring them. The two looped through the sky, dipping and spiraling, until Toothless landed at the far end of the bridge. He introduced the dragon to the men, the latter looking far more impressed than the former. Oddly enough, none of them wanted to go for a ride.

* * *

When they'd settled down for the night, Toothless curled up nearby and Stoick snoring slightly, Hiccup thought about what he'd seen so far, and mostly about Merida. Something was different about her. Of course she was taller, and, um, curvier than he remembered—he wasn't sure how he was supposed to court a girl when he blushed just thinking about her physical changes. She'd grown up, that was all, the same way he had, and Fishlegs, and Astrid.

He flopped onto his side, as if he could bodily escape thoughts of her. She was… That was in the past now. He had a task here, a new thing to puzzle out. That it was a princess who he might end up marrying was not important.

It kind of was, though. He was here, they all were, because Merida was the princess and needed a husband. She didn't, though, or at least the Merida he'd known didn't; he could picture pretty clearly the look she would have given anyone who'd dared to suggest it. She was strong enough to stand alone, crowned or not. And surely her dad had taught her things, tactics and leadership and command. Maybe DunBroch wasn't like Berk that way, though. Maybe, even if she was the one born to the throne, the queen was just supposed to stand aside and let her husband rule.

That couldn't be right. She'd never agree to it, and besides, it was obvious that her mom wasn't letting King Fergus make all the decisions in the kingdom. If they weren't looking for someone to rule instead of Merida, then maybe they were looking for someone to help her. Make alliances, like the one they'd mentioned, but also maybe keep her in check a little. Stop her from starting any wars by acting too quickly.

And the monarchy was hereditary. She'd need heirs to ensure a smooth succession, with no power struggles disturbing the kingdom's peace. Heirs meant kids, and kids meant a man to father them. With Merida. Who had, since he'd last seen her, become a young woman. Without his brain's agreement he pictured the flare of her hips, accentuated by the gently clinging fabric of her skirt, and the swell of her breasts. He groaned quietly and hid his face in his arm until his mind came back from its unauthorized wandering.

When they'd all been gathered to present themselves to the royal family, he almost hadn't recognized her. Okay, maybe that wasn't quite true: she was impossible not to recognize, with the ginger curls and the blazing blue eyes, her face still fair and round, though no longer babyishly so, her voice still loud enough to be heard at a great distance. But her presence had been different. The girl he remembered was willful and insistent, the same one Fergus had described when he'd told the story of how he lost his leg. Now she was restrained, in a way that made _him_ feel stifled to watch. Until she'd burst out demanding to be taken to see the dragons she'd seemed like a shadow of herself. The maturity and responsibility hemmed her in, like a too-small tunic. She couldn't move, couldn't be free. She may have been doing the right thing, but she wasn't happy.


	4. Chapter 4

To the guest reviewer: The story is already complete, and I won't be making any significant changes to it. I hope you keep reading nonetheless.

Thank y'all for continuing to read! I enjoy this chapter, and I hope you will, too.

* * *

For once Ewan had understated something. The horse was beautifully fast, legs flying beneath him. Angus hadn't a chance of beating him as they raced toward the edge of the forest. From this angle he looked solid, but it was barely past dawn and the light none too strong yet; she'd have to get a better look at him to see if he had any flaws.

"Told you," Ewan said, grinning, when she caught up.

"Aye, you did." She knew she was smiling back, but it was out of admiration for his horse.

They walked just outside the canopy of trees toward the loch. "We've one of his sisters as well," Ewan told her, and Merida's eyes widened as she imagined the offspring Angus might sire out of a horse like this, how strong and well-proportioned and fast it could be.

"Is she—" She didn't get a chance to finish the question before he started answering.

"Full-blooded sister, two years younger, and just as fast. Lighter coat so far, but she might darken a bit yet."

She nearly sighed dreamily at the thought. Then reality crashed down upon her when he added, "She'll be a wedding present for my bride."

"Lucky girl." She wondered what other things she'd be promised by the suitors: lands, gowns, houses, jewels? She could think of nothing, not even the sister of the fastest horse she'd ever seen, she'd be willing to trade her hand for.

Then again, she thought, as she swung into the saddle and sped back toward the castle, Ewan and Angus struggling to catch up, he was awfully fast.

* * *

"Anything?" Stoick asked.

From their current vantage point they could see most of the activities spread out over a wide grassy lawn, dotted with tents and crisscrossed with ropes marking off competition areas. Unsurprisingly, there didn't seem to be any dragon-related games. He certainly wouldn't be able to lift one of those logs, let alone toss it—come to think of it, lots of the activities seemed to involve throwing heavy things. That was really more his dad's territory. Maybe he'd have some luck with the archery, but he wasn't counting on it. "Nope."

He heard his dad stifle a huff. "Come on, maybe we'll find something." They made their way into the crowds, observing the various competitions, the dancing and the piping, sampling treats as they walked. A few of the Scots stared at them curiously, but there was little hostility toward the foreigners.

As soon as he heard the clash of sword on sword, Hiccup knew his dad would find the source of the noise. It was inevitable. He followed Stoick as he made his way to a roped-off square where two men were fighting, swinging broadswords viciously as a small crowd cheered them on. A rack of unsharpened swords stood waiting to be used, and Stoick stopped next to it and smiled.

Hiccup shook his head. "No."

"Yes."

"Dad, no!"

"Hiccup, you have to do something," his dad insisted. "Show you're willing. It's this or the stone throw."

Much as Hiccup hated to admit it, Stoick was right; it was his best chance not to embarrass himself. Astrid's warning that he not make the Hooligans look bad rang in his head and he hoped that all that sparring with the others back home had taught him a thing or two. Hiccup ran a hand over the pommel of one of the swords before he hefted it. It was a little heavier than he was used to, but not insurmountably so. He swung the blade a few times, hoping the slightly different balance wouldn't pose a problem. Given enough time he could work out how to adjust his thrust and center of gravity to account for the discrepancy, but he didn't really have that time right now.

"Or you could just take mine," Stoick suggested mildly. It was perhaps a bit too long for Hiccup, but it felt right—the leather wrapped around the grip smelling faintly of salt air and smoke and molded to his dad's hand. He could work with that.

The pair in the ring ended their match and slapped each other on the back amicably. No one took their place immediately; Hiccup started to look around for some kind of schedule or sign-up sheet or official in charge.

"Looking for a fight, Viking?" a voice demanded behind him. The young Macintosh stood at his ease, arms crossed over his bare chest and a large sword sheathed at his hip. Some paces behind him a group of girls were gathered, watching keenly and whispering to each other.

"More for a little friendly competition." Hiccup didn't mean to say things that could and did get him in trouble; sometimes they just slipped out. Like when he raised an eyebrow at the smirking Highlander and remarked, "I think that leaves you out."

To his credit, Macintosh didn't stab him then and there. His smirk turned feral, and with exaggerated slowness he drew his sword. "Let's see how you fight without your dragon to protect you."

Stoick patted him on the shoulder as Hiccup entered the ring. More people arrived to watch as Macintosh spun his sword ostentatiously, shaking his hair back as he fell into a fighting stance; for all his posturing, he knew what he was doing. That only made him cockier, like he thought there was no way a one-legged barbarian could possibly beat him. The look of condescension on his face was maddening. Hiccup couldn't help it—he wanted to beat this guy.

Their swords met and Hiccup felt the ringing all the way through his arm. He dodged a slash and caught the follow-through on his blade. Macintosh was good, that much was clear; he was quick and light, attacked easily. There wasn't much hope that Hiccup could tire him out, but there had to be some way to beat him.

It came to Hiccup quickly. Macintosh's full attention wasn't on the fight; his peripheral vision scanned the crowd around them, looking, Hiccup assumed, for Merida. He wanted her to see him fight. Hiccup had to be able to take advantage of that somehow. When he saw a flash of red hair behind his opponent he struck on one side, steering Macintosh into a turn, watching his eyes. They lit up as he caught sight of her, and he turned his head just enough to give Hiccup the opportunity he needed. He brought his sword down hard against the other's on his unguarded side, and then, as he stumbled, drove a shoulder into his chest. Macintosh lurched backwards and Hiccup swung up against his sword, landing a strike close to the hilt that broke his grip on the weapon. The wrench of being unarmed threw him off-balance and he wheeled his arms, catching Hiccup a solid blow to the face. Through the blur of pain he saw Macintosh sit down hard, a disgusted expression on his face.

Hiccup stopped abruptly, letting his sword point drop, and blew out a breath. Something warm was trickling from his nose; he wiped his fist under it gingerly and saw a smear of blood on his hand. Then he offered his clean hand to Macintosh. It was a relief when he took it and hauled himself up.

Hiccup shook the hand. "Nice job," he said sincerely. For more than a minute it had looked like Hiccup was going to lose, and badly; he wasn't afraid to admit that when it came to technique, Macintosh was the better swordsman. "You gotta show me that two-handed overhead—"

Macintosh jerked his hand away and snatched up his sword. "Clean yourself up," he said shortly before stalking off, stiff-legged. The crowd parted to let him pass and then started to disperse, some of them clearly disappointed that the fight wasn't continuing. More than a few of these Highlanders were as belligerent as the Vikings. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stoick hold his palm out, grinning as a man next to him dropped a coin into it; he caught his son's eye and flipped the coin with a wink. Then he turned and grabbed the man, slinging an arm around his shoulders and almost certainly inviting him to share a drink. That was one way to make alliances, Hiccup guessed with a brief smile. He wasn't doing so good on that front at the moment. He didn't blame Macintosh for being angry—Hiccup wasn't sure if the body check was considered fair here, though anyone on Berk would have seen it coming a mile away. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing sweaty strands back from his forehead, leaning on his dad's sword as he caught his breath.

"Alright?" Merida asked from beyond the barriers. He straightened and nodded. "Come on, then. I'll get you something for your face."

He turned to follow the princess. "I think my face is beyond help," he said, resigned but cheerful, swinging the sword up. A group of lasses meandered by, making eyes at the Viking warrior, whispering and giggling as he passed; Merida shot a glance sideways at him, but he seemed oblivious to the attention, unaware of how he looked, wearing that contented expression, in spite of—or maybe because of—the blood and dirt streaking his face, hair stuck up at the front, sword resting easily on his shoulder… The weird double-vision struck again and she remembered a boy with a purple tongue and red scratches crisscrossing his face after a run-in with a bramble bush. She knew they were the same person, but if anyone had told her years ago that that boy would grow up to use a sword the way this man did, she wouldn't have believed it. And though the boy then had had a nice smile, she certainly wouldn't have believed that his looks would one day turn girls' heads. She swallowed and stared resolutely forward.

"Ewan is very good," she said. "It's not often someone manages to beat him."

"I'm surprised I did," he admitted.

"How did you?" She chanced a look up at him then.

"If he'd had all his attention on the fight I'd have lost. But he was looking at you instead." Left at that it made it sound like he was so smitten that her presence distracted him. Hiccup should say something else, talk himself up. He wasn't supposed to be making the other suitors sound good.

But Merida didn't simper and sigh at the revelation; she shook her head. "Ewan Macintosh thought he couldn't be beaten, and he wanted to make sure I saw him win. Now I've seen him lose instead and he'll be off sulking somewhere. He's not a gracious loser."

"I thought maybe it was just me." A trickle of sweat had escaped his earlier ministrations and made it to the corner of his upper lip; he stuck out his tongue to lick it away. Her throat felt dry and tight, and she cleared it gently.

"It's not just you," she said, but the words rang false in her head, for reasons she didn't want to think about.

Without saying anything further she led him into the tent that had been set up to attend to medical necessities. It was rarely used—there were few serious injuries during the games, and fewer competitors who wanted to admit to needing help. Even now it was empty, the attendant off doing something more interesting. Merida gestured for him to sit on the table, and as he hopped up she gathered a cloth and a basin of clean water. There was no real reason for her to be attending to him personally; there was no reason for him to need anything but a bucket of water over his head and a quick scrub. She hadn't thought twice about helping him, though, and she knew that she wouldn't have done a thing if it had been Ewan with the bloody nose, even if he hadn't done something to deserve it.

When she turned back Hiccup was swinging his legs, curiously studying the tent poles. He stilled his feet as Merida stood to one side, setting the bowl of water on the table beside him and wringing out the cloth. When she moved to dab it against his face Hiccup suddenly held up his hand between them, stopping her short. "I can do that," he said, feeling strangely panicky.

"So can I."

"Here, give me that. You don't want to get blood on you."

She raised an eyebrow, hand and cloth hovering in the air. A drop of water slid down the side of her hand. "You think I'm worried about that?"

"Of course not, but—" Her hand darted forward and connected with his nose and he hissed in pain. "Ow."

"Sorry!" Hiccup squinted up at her contrite expression. With deliberate slowness she moved again, guiding the cloth to wipe away the blood and dirt streaked under his nose. She was concentrating, being careful not to hurt him any further, and it was just too odd for him to let it go on.

"Nah, don't apologize. Vikings love pain. You should probably punch me in the face again."

She frowned for a moment until she saw the curve of his lips, so close to her hand, and realized he was joking. Her frown faded. "Maybe I should. The worse you look, the better Ewan will feel."

Hiccup grinned. "You're right. So come on." He squared his shoulders, cracked his neck, and pointed at his face. "Hit me."

She dropped the rag into the basin and shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. "I don't think you want me to do that. My dad taught me to punch," she warned him. "I'll probably break your nose."

"That's alright. I think I'm the only guy my age who's never had one." Somehow both Astrid and Ruffnut had escaped that particular injury. How Ruff avoided it was a mystery; she'd broken Tuff's enough times, but apparently he was kind enough, or cruel enough, knowing them, not to return the favor. "They'd be so impressed if I came home with a broken nose."

She laughed then, shaking her head. "You Vikings. Always more brawn than common sense."

"We really should have followed through on that plan to switch places."

At eight years old, their plan had been simple: she would hide aboard one of the ships, while he would hole up in the castle. Neither would reveal themselves until it was too late, though they'd argued about when exactly that would be. Merida had been confident that both sets of parents would accept their replacement child with resignation at the worst and joy at the best. "Just think how much you could have learned from my mum."

"I know. And Stoick would have been thrilled to have you as a daughter."

She waited for him to suggest ever-so-subtly that Stoick could still have her as a daughter-in-law and her stomach clenched in anticipation of it. After a pause, all he said was, "I don't know if I could deal with the kilts, though."

Relief coursed through her like cool water and she laughed helplessly. He looked pleased and went on, "Yeah, you can laugh. You would've gotten off way easier. You wouldn't even have to wear a dress until you got married, practically, and you never would if you were a shieldmaiden. You would have made a much better Hooligan than I ever was."

_He's here to court you_, she reminded herself, _he'll flatter you so you think well of him_. She couldn't entirely believe it, though, not about him. Nothing he'd said or done so far felt false. She'd pay closer attention in the future; for now she let herself enjoy the warmth in her chest at the appraisal. "I wouldn't have done what you did, though. Saving the dragon instead of killing it and all."

"Why not?" He cocked his head at her, eyes glittering. "You went against tradition here, so what makes you think you wouldn't have there too?"

Hiccup and his questions, she remembered, dropping her eyes. She suspected that now he'd be even more likely to go searching for answers than he'd been before. Well, she knew a thing or two about stubbornness herself. She peeked up. "Hiccup? Do you think we could—"

Her request was interrupted by a woman calling her name in the near distance. Merida cursed quietly but fervently; she colored a little when she caught Hiccup's eyebrows raised at her words. "Sorry. It seems I have to go."

"No problem." She paused at the entrance to the tent, and he said, "If you change your mind about wanting to punch me, I'll be around." He gave her half a smile before she left. When she'd gone Hiccup sighed, wiped the blood and dirt from his hands, rinsed and wrung out the cloth, and then went to find his dad.

* * *

**Notes:  
**Fun (but not particularly consequential) fact: Both Hiccup and Young Macintosh are left-handed.**  
**

I saw this picture and I knew I had to make Hiccup bleed a little. Take that as you will. julialost dot tumblr dot com /post/ 56641477825/ i-i-just-like-colors-ok


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you to those of you still reading and reviewing!

**Credit where it is due:** This chapter contains a scene directly inspired by (some might say ripped off from) one in "The Matchmaker," though I'd be willing to bet that the idea wasn't original to whomever wrote that one, either. Now if I can just work in the Relationships Pie somewhere…

* * *

The previous afternoon he'd found Stoick learning from his new friend how to toss the caber. He'd taken to it with an ease that didn't surprise Hiccup in the slightest, though his accuracy needed a little work. Both men and the group gathered around them had laughed together like they'd known each other all their lives; one had even slung an arm around Hiccup when he joined them. Their jollity had continued into the evening around a cask of ale.

This morning he found the great hall empty. He wasn't hiding; it just seemed like a good place to get away from all the enthusiastic physicality going on outside. He'd go back out in a few minutes, after his head had had a chance to clear. Until then Hiccup sat at one of the long tables, roughing out the design carved into the stone above the thrones in his sketchbook.

"Hiccup?"

"Yeah?" he replied, finishing a stroke. That done he looked up, saw who'd addressed him, and dropped his charcoal. "I mean yes? Sorry, Your Majesty." He scrambled to his feet, wondering what she wanted of him.

The queen nodded to accept his apology. "I'd like to see the dragons, please," she said briskly, hands folded in front of her.

"Of course. Uh, right now?"

"If you're not otherwise occupied." She looked at the sketchbook on the table, open to where he'd been drawing the intertwined bears. "That's very well done."

"Thanks." He picked up the charcoal and twisted it in his fingers as he talked. "A lot of your designs aren't that different from ones we have in Berk, but they're more symmetrical and balanced here. Ours are looser, less structured." Queen Elinor was watching him thoughtfully, with a quiet intensity that made him stop fidgeting and stand up straight. He tucked the book and charcoal away. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. Perhaps later you can show me what you mean."

"Sure. You bet. Um, shall we?"

Hiccup didn't know what he was supposed to talk about with Elinor. It wasn't just that she was the queen; she was also the mother of the girl he was trying to woo, and that was awkward enough, but more than anyone else here, she was just so foreign. There was no one, woman or man, like her on Berk, no one so self-possessed and intelligent and elegant and _clean_. What did they even have in common, the young Viking dragon trainer and the Bear Queen? Apart from being able to boast of fairly unique experiences with the animal kingdom, he mused, though that probably wasn't the best subject to bring up. The only other thing that came to mind was…

"How's Merida?" he blurted and then immediately cringed, his voice loud in his own ears.

The tiniest of frowns creased her forehead. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Is she okay? With all—just in general? Since we've been here she seems a little…off."

"Off how?" He felt the brunt of her hawklike gaze on him. Should've known she'd want him to be more precise. He had to come up with the right words now.

After a moment's thought he began again. "I know it's been a while since the last time we met, and trust me, I know how much can change in a few years—even just a few minutes." He wiggled his prosthetic on his next step. "But Merida was never like this. Even when she—we got in trouble and you sent her off to bed without supper—"

"Knowing full well that someone, you or her father or the boys, would smuggle something to her." Elinor's countenance was calm, but he was pretty sure it wasn't the reflection of the lake making her eyes sparkle.

He ventured a small smile before he went on, serious again. "Even then, even when she was in a terrible mood, she was never this reserved. It's weird."

"Life is not always kind," she said. It was true, but now it was also a test.

The look that crossed his face verged on frustrated. "If that's your explanation, I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but it's not good enough." He shook his head. "Yeah, bad things happen. The king lost a leg, you got turned into a bear. Maybe you're a little different now, but you're both still you. That—" He stopped and flung his hand back up the path. "—isn't Merida. I don't think life being unkind explains what happened to her, her spirit. And I want to know."

Elinor hadn't anticipated being harangued by one of her guests this morning, and certainly not this one. To be honest, it was refreshing. She pushed back. "She has matured," she informed him, leaving no ambiguity about the fact that she thought maybe other parties present had yet to do the same. "She is trying to do what's right for her people."

"Great! Good for her. But there's maturity and then there's giving up, and we both know that what's going on with her is not just maturity." He clutched at his hair, staring into the air over her head; then he looked at her and demanded, "Aren't you worried?"

"Of course I'm worried, I'm her mother! I'm not made of stone."

His hands dropped to his sides as she continued. "We tried to talk her out of this gathering, her father and I. She was supposed to be able to find a husband in her own time. The last thing we wanted to do after the last time was push her; but it seems the damage was already done. Once you know a thing, it's hard to unknow it." She resumed walking down the path, raising her skirts over a patch of mud. "And now she knows how much depends upon her choices, and that her childhood is truly over and she must become a woman and a wife and eventually a queen. I suppose in a way she's mourning."

Beside her Hiccup considered this. It made a lot of sense, really. Both of them had grown up with expectations placed on them, knowing that there were things in their futures that they wouldn't be able to avoid forever. Maybe Merida had been indulged more than he had, allowed to avoid her responsibilities for longer; or maybe in the wake of losing his leg the idea of becoming an adult had gone from something to dread to something to celebrate, since it meant he was still alive. Whatever the case, he understood having to adjust to the idea of a new life, one that you hadn't planned to live.

"What can I do?" he asked, more to himself than to the queen. She answered anyway.

"What makes you think you can do something?"

He looked at her almost curiously. "I have to try," he said, as if there was no other option.

Perhaps the stubborn set of his jaw had come around the same time as the dragon, or perhaps in the past she hadn't noticed it because next to her daughter Hiccup had seemed like a saint. The light in his eyes, the intelligence and mischief, that had always been there. Fergus was right about him—he appeared to be smart, determined, competent, and more than a little charismatic. He was one to keep an eye on.

"Any advice on what I can do?"

"I'm not certain I should say." She wouldn't admit that she herself had only the faintest idea of how to help Merida. "It would give you an unfair advantage, wouldn't it, getting advice from her mother?"

He shrugged, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Hey, it's not my fault nobody thought of it before me."

"Indeed." She studied him and he met her gaze. "All the same, best not to risk it. If you want to help my daughter, I believe you'll find a way."

If he muttered something under his breath about unrealistic expectations of his abilities, she chose not to hear it, instead waiting patiently, hands clasped in front of her.

"Ready, Your Majesty?"

She inclined her head and he called for Toothless, watching her reaction out of the corner of his eye. She at least had some idea of what to expect; Fergus would have told her about Toothless after their meeting. Even so, her calm demeanor as the Night Fury approached, his paws crunching quietly among the rocks, impressed Hiccup. She was completely at ease, like she knew there was nothing to fear. There wasn't, not from Toothless and not with Hiccup there, but most people still freaked out a little the very first time they saw a dragon. Maybe it had to do with the former-bear thing. He had lots of questions about that, actually.

As he introduced them the two regarded each other steadily. Queen Elinor's eyes had a distinctly assessing gleam as she took in claws and wings and Hiccup's handiwork; Toothless was eager to fly, though he sat still and deferential before the queen.

"I don't suppose you want to take a ride."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said briskly, and Toothless' head drooped. "Why do you think we came all the way down here while everyone else is busy?"

"Are you sure? It can be kind of a shock…" Toothless slapped him in the back of the head with an earflap and dropped to his stomach. In turn Hiccup hissed "Bad dragon," eyes narrowed. Elinor laughed at the pair of them and hoisted her skirts.

"I find myself rather difficult to shock in recent years," she said, a definite twinkle in her eyes now. Hiccup wished he could say the same thing.

After flying over the lake, close enough for Toothless' wings to skim the water and then at a great height, the queen requested that they return her to the castle. Their landing startled some geese and a dozing guard, but everyone else was occupied on the fields. "Thank you both," Elinor said. "It was a most enlightening experience."

"No problem. Thank you. And, uh, sorry for earlier, when I kind of spoke out of turn. I just can't keep my mouth shut when…"

"When it's something important."

"Yeah."

They shared a look, and though the queen's expression was inscrutable, he felt sure that she understood him better than he did. After a moment's silence she nodded. "I suppose there are worse traits to possess. If you'll excuse me."

Hiccup waited until she'd gone in to urge Toothless into the sky. From just inside the door she turned to watch them go, feeling an anticipation she hadn't known before bubbling through her. This gathering was shaping up to be quite interesting.

* * *

After supper the next night one of the suitors, a sandy-haired lad a few years her junior, approached. He was from the western isles, she remembered. "Your Highness," he said with a bow, "if I might be so bold as to ask a favor."

"You might ask, and I might grant it," Merida answered, sounding more regal than she felt.

"Some of us are going to have a little contest, friendly-like, and we hoped you would judge it."

"What sort of contest?"

She must've sounded more suspicious than she meant to, because he reassured her. "Music, my lady. Singing, or playing an instrument. One song per man, and you choose the winner."

"I know nothing about music. Perhaps the queen would be the judge for you."

"That's hardly the point, princess," he said, the faintest patronizing hint in his tone.

"Right. Of course." She drummed her fingertips on the tabletop in thought. It sounded fairly safe: no one was likely to get hurt, or break anything important; and she could learn something new about the participants, give the ones who weren't suited to athletic pursuits a chance to show off their talents.

"I'll do it," she said.

The lad—someone called him Col and she silently thanked whoever it was—returned to announce the contest; a chair was readied for her as the men prepared themselves. She noticed Ewan arguing fiercely with his dad. Then one by one the men stepped forward to bow and present a song. Most sang, though one produced a whistle and others played the harp or lute. At the nudge of his father's elbow in his ribs Domnall stood and sang an air; his voice was decent, certainly no worse than hers, the Doric words rippling through the hall.

As he sat there was a scuffle where the Macintoshes sat and Ewan stumbled to his feet, his face sour as he bowed and mumbled tonelessly through a song. There was sparse, uncertain applause as he bowed stiffly and returned to his seat, where he downed a mug of ale in one gulp. For the first time that she could remember Merida felt bad for him.

Col, it turned out, had a lovely singing voice. As he serenaded her with "Wild Mountain Thyme" she reckoned that his talent should have come as no surprise; doubtless he'd organized the contest in order to show himself in the best possible light. It was smart maneuvering, to be sure, and though she'd had an idea of what he was doing when he first suggested it, it left a bad taste in her mouth.

When everyone had had a go the winner was obvious. She stood and smiled at the men. "That was lovely. Thank you all so much for entertaining us."

"Who's won?" someone called.

No sense in drawing it out. "The winner is Col." Men hooted and his friends pounded him on the back as he stood, grinning, and joined her. "Erm…I'm afraid I don't know what to give you as a prize." She didn't have any ribbons handy, her purse was in her room, and she'd forgotten a handkerchief, as usual. Col smirked.

"A kiss!" a voice called. There was a chorus of "Aye!" from all assembled.

Irritation boiled in her chest. He'd planned this all out from the beginning, confident that he'd win. She wanted to reward him even less now, but she had to be fair. With narrowed eyes above an insincere smile she contented herself with the fact that he'd won this contest but maneuvered himself right out of the larger competition. Perhaps spite was no way to pick a husband, but it was awfully satisfying.

Merida took a half-step closer as Col turned his cheek. She leaned forward; he twisted his head at the last second and her lips pressed against his. His mouth opened and with a shock of horror she felt his tongue stroke her lips. Without thinking she wrenched her head back, lifting her foot at the same time and stomping down on his foot. He staggered back, muttering a curse.

The cheering quieted as she stared around the room, aware that her face was scarlet with anger. Some of the men had the brains to look guilty; Domnall's expression was black as he stared at Col. She drew herself up and addressed the room coldly. "The winner of your contest," she said, enunciation to make her mother proud, gesturing at Col. There were no cheers as he slunk back to his seat.

Conversations began again as she sat, head swirling with suppressed anger, foot tapping against the flagstones. He was lucky her dad wasn't there to see what he'd tried—he was lucky she didn't have her bow handy. She was so engrossed in imagining him as a pincushion that she didn't notice anyone approaching.

"Are y'alright, Princess?" Domnall asked. He stood a short distance away, careful not to infringe on her space; whether it was out of fear for his own personal safety or respect for her she wasn't sure, but she appreciated it.

"Fine, thank you." She tried to smile, but her hands were still shaking.

"I've a mind to sort him out," he said darkly.

As much as she'd love to see Col get a good walloping, if she didn't get to do it, no one else would, either. "No! No. He's been sorted out already."

"Lost his chance, eh?"

"You'll never have to bow to him," she said with grim satisfaction. This time when she looked at Domnall she really saw him. The anger was fading from his face; for the first time she thought she could make out the angles of his jaw, the set of his chin bristling with a short golden beard. A pink tinge crept into his cheeks as she studied him, but he didn't look away. That was new. "I liked your song."

The flush grew more noticeable, but he still didn't drop his gaze. Merida wondered how many compliments it would take before he had to look away. "Thank you. It's my mum's favorite. She used to sing it to us. Much better than I did, o' course."

"You sang it well."

That did it. Still, she was amazed at how much bolder he seemed. Maybe he'd changed more than she thought.

"My mum would sing me 'A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal' when I was frightened."

He pulled a stool near and sat. "What were _you_ frightened of?" he asked, and they talked about childhood fears until she felt the anger drained away, only a hollow left in her stomach.

She yawned and Domnall excused himself, wishing her pleasant dreams. As she stood a familiar mop of dark hair caught her eye. She couldn't blame anyone for leaving him there alone, but it wouldn't do to let him drink himself insensible in the middle of the great hall. Who knew what kind of mischief he would wreak—or have wreaked upon him, she added, considering what her brothers might do if they found him helpless.

"Ewan." It took a few repetitions, with growing insistence, before he looked up. His face was slack and his hair rumpled; he looked distinctly unattractive and fairly miserable. For the second time that night she found herself feeling sorry for him. By the number of empty mugs around him, in the morning he'd be adding a pounding hangover to his mental anguish. "Haven't you had enough?"

"No. I can still remember my father makin' me get up there and humiliate myself." He reached for the mug, but she slid it away. "Gi' me that. Please."

His self-pitying whine was quickly extinguishing the meager flame of her sympathy. "You'll not find any comfort there."

"I'll no' find comfort anywhere. I'm cursed, princess." He clutched his head melodramatically.

"Cursed?" she asked skeptically, sitting across from him, though it was a definite possibility. He was the type of lad who was always getting cursed in fairy stories. Maybe he'd learn a lesson from it.

"Aye, to my everlastin' lamentation." He _would_ make it everlasting, she thought.

"How are you cursed?"

"Abou' a week before we came last time I kicked over a fairy ring. That's why I lost at the archery, and swordfightin' that Viking scoundrel, an' why I'll lose your hand now." He grabbed said hand in both of his, kissing it wetly before pressing it to his cheek. By a sober man on a soppy girl the gesture might have achieved its intended effect. As none of those conditions were met, Merida was unmoved; she shook her hand free and wiped it on her skirt as discreetly as possible.

Most people would not ascribe to the malice of fairies what could just as easily be explained by vanity and arrogance. That was what had really lost all of it, but especially her.

He sighed hopelessly. "I don' even want t'marry you," he said.

It was one thing for her to reject him, but it was another altogether for him to reject her. Her glare was lost on him. "Then why are you here?"

"My da thinks I ought to be the king. But we'd fight all the time, you an' me. You're a harridan—"

"Oi!"

"And I'm a wastrel. 'T would be no good for us, nor the kingdom. I'd be a rubbish king, no matter what Dad says."

Merida leaned back. The truth of it was no shock, but his admission of it all was. Anger against the elder Macintosh spiked within her, followed by shame that she was the cause of Ewan's distress—alright, the cause of some of his distress. Then she hoped that he'd remember all this in the morning, feeling only a little mean at the wish.

"You're right," she said soothingly. He peered at her through blurry eyes. "How selfless of you to think of the good of the kingdom before your own."

Ewan's expression brightened somewhat, though his confusion was still evident. "Aye. I am that. What you said."

"Yes, you are." She stood and waved to some men nearby. "I'll be sure to keep this conversation in mind in the coming days."

He beamed as two men helped him to his feet. "You won't be rubbish, Merida. You'll be a grand wee queen."

That remained to be seen; but now she knew for sure that she would never be a Macintosh.

* * *

**Additional note:**

I'm well aware that "Wild Mountain Thyme" (also known as "Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go" or "Blooming/Purple Heather") did not actually exist in the time period in question. I recommend the Corries' version, or Kate Rusby's, which is replete with melancholy beauty.


	6. Chapter 6

Someone had suggested a picnic. Apparently picnics here were much more involved than they were back in Berk, where it meant throwing some bread and dried fish in a sack, grabbing a little light weaponry, and heading out. Or maybe the tents and pies and the band of musicians were a royal thing; from what he could tell the queen was in charge of this particular excursion, which accounted for the fanciness.

While the royal family and their servants were busy in the castle, Hiccup found the suitors preparing by polishing their tack and brushing their horses. Hiccup didn't think that Toothless would be welcome, especially among skittish animals like horses, but if he wanted to go, he was clearly going to need some transportation. It seemed unlikely that anyone would let him hitch a ride with them, and there was no way in Hel he'd ask any of the suitors to borrow a horse; maybe he could ask Fergus, though. He also wasn't going to mention that he'd never ridden a horse before. It couldn't be that different from riding a dragon, right?

He was turning to go look for the king when one of the men said, "You've no' got a horse, have you?" From the steady, deliberate delivery of the words, he knew it was the younger MacGuffin. The blond man spoke like he was used to being asked to repeat himself, and wanted to avoid it.

"No. No horse." He didn't feel the need to elaborate. Everyone knew him as the dragonrider already; there was no need to bring it up in every conversation.

"Hard luck," someone nearby said. "There's nothing the princess loves more dearly than a good long ride."

From further away another man muttered slyly, "I could give her a good long ride." There were a few crude chuckles, but also voices urging the speaker to show some respect. Hiccup glared in the direction of the speaker, but his attention was drawn back to a piece of leather in MacGuffin's hand squealing as he clenched his fist tight around it, his face clouding. Hiccup hadn't heard of Scots going berserk, but he had a good candidate for it right here. And this wasn't the first time MacGuffin had reacted threateningly to someone being less than polite about Merida. Hiccup figured he knew what that meant, and filed the information away for the future.

He cleared his throat, and MacGuffin's grip loosened somewhat. "Do you know where King Fergus is?"

"What d'you want to talk to him for?" There was a slight edge to the question, though whether that was residual anger or suspicion of him he wasn't sure.

Maybe now would be a good time to work on those friendly relationships. He dropped his voice to a level loud enough for just MacGuffin to hear. "I'm going to ask if I can borrow a horse. It looks like this picnic could be interesting. I'd hate to miss it because I didn't have a ride."

MacGuffin stared at him for a long moment; it was a little awkward, but not hostile. After a brief silence, the man said, "I'll ask me dad if you can take his."

Hiccup hadn't been expecting that. "What, really?"

He nodded shortly. "Aye. You're no' a bad sort; 's more than can be said of some of them."

"Thank you." He couldn't work out why MacGuffin had offered, turning over reason after convoluted reason in his head; in the end he decided that the other man thought he was safe, that he didn't pose any harm to the princess and possibly any threat to MacGuffin's own courting. Hiccup wondered how true that was.

And so not more than an hour later he stood next to a towering grey horse. Said beast radiated an air of impatience; all around them riders were swinging into the saddle, but not his. Hiccup watched MacGuffin mount his horse. It didn't _look_ complicated.

"You have ridden before, haven't you?"

"Uh…no." Hiccup smiled weakly. "Did I not mention that?"

MacGuffin muttered something that sounded like "Crivens," whatever that meant. "Put your left foot in the stirrup and swing your right over his back."

Left foot. Great. "Can't I go right foot first?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's backwards. No one mounts that way."

He never appreciated Toothless more than when he lifted his leg to slip his foot into the stirrup. Didn't horses know how to lie down? That would make it so much easier. When he felt that his prosthetic was securely in the stirrup he grabbed the saddle and pushed up. It took a few tries before he made it up.

"Alright?" MacGuffin was only smirking a little as he watched Hiccup

"Great."

"Stay by me and you should be fine."

Before he could respond Elinor and Merida appeared on their horses. They greeted the men and then wheeled to lead the way.

* * *

Getting down was just as complicated as getting up. No one was paying him much attention, though, for which he was grateful. When he'd dismounted safely, if not gracefully, he stood shifting his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do, until MacGuffin took the horse's reins and led it away to tie it to a tree. Hiccup watched as he produced an apple and offered it to Merida. She took it with a slight laugh and asked a question, eyebrows raised and lips curving, before she fed the apple to her horse.

It was easy to see why MacGuffin liked her. She was energetic, spirited, teasing—all the things she'd been as a child, though now, coupled with her unexpected beauty, those traits were alluring. They could also be easy to misinterpret. He hadn't been surprised at the rude comment back at the stable; if anything, he was surprised that he hadn't heard more such innuendo so far. Maybe the Scots really were more civilized than the Vikings.

This was exactly the kind of social situation that he was no good at. Not that he was great at any kind of social situation, but in a small group, with people he knew and shared interests with, he could manage not to be too weird. This, though, this was classic pre-Toothless Hiccup, the outcast in any crowd.

It gave him a chance to observe the others as they jockeyed for places near Merida. Some of them were subtle, but a few were starting to look desperate; their offers to bring the princess refreshments, or inquiries after her comfort, if she was too chilly or too warm or needed any shade, were discomfiting to witness, and must have been all the more awkward for her to sit through. She smiled, though, or at least made a face that seemed to be passing for a smile.

* * *

If she'd had her way it would have been a race to the picnic site. But with her mum next to her they rode at a sedate pace, trotting on a path overlooking the loch as the suitors followed behind them. They passed into the forest briefly before reaching the glade, where a pair of tents and tables for the luncheon were already set up. It couldn't have been a nicer day for it: the sun was framed by a few fluffy clouds, the air was sweet and clear. If only there weren't all these people around, she thought with only a touch of bitterness.

She would be happier sprawled out in the grass while her mum read and her brothers frolicked, instead of trying to maintain perfect posture as she sat on a blanket, surrounded by a handful of men who clearly wanted her to starve. Thus far, the picnic didn't seem like the most efficient scheme for any one suitor to advance himself; if that was the intention behind it, it was a bit scatty. She suddenly missed Wullie Dingwall and the days when there were only three lads out to get her. She could be Lady Dingwall now if she'd done what she was supposed to; she could be Lady Macintosh, or Lady MacGuffin a hundred times over, and not beset on all sides by wooing men, if she weren't so stubborn.

Harris and Hubert plopped down on her left and Hamish threw himself to the ground on her right, causing men to scramble out of the way. Harris handed her a meat pie and she took it with a grateful smile, nibbling at it as Hubert told a joke to the men sitting nearby, giving her a chance to breathe. What would she do without the boys? She blinked to clear the mist that filled her eyes at the thought and looked away.

A handful of suitors sat around her, listening to her brothers joke. Beyond them the others sat on the grass in little knots of three or four. Ewan sat between a wool merchant and a lord from east of DunBroch, likely talking about horses; he gave her a shy smile when he noticed her looking. The biggest group, half a dozen men, sat around Hiccup. As she watched one of the others said something and Hiccup answered, leaning forward intently, hands gesturing. His head whipped around as another man asked a question. Even from a distance she could see his expression change as he listened, eyes narrowing in concentration, brows furrowing; his reply ended with the quirk of an eyebrow and a sardonic smile, and the men chuckled. He seemed surprised by the response, eyes darting around the laughing faces. Then he looked straight at her. She started back, like she'd been burned, and dropped her eyes quickly. It took the space of a few breaths for her heartbeat to slow again.

* * *

Hamish pulled on her hand. "Come on, Merida, let's take a walk," he all but ordered as his brothers popped up. She excused herself from the suitors, lounging in a post-lunch stupor, and took Hamish's arm, Harris and Hubert behind them.

The boys were better than any armed warrior when it came to encouraging people to keep their distance. Hamish shook off her hand after a moment, and the three of them scampered around her like the cubs they once were. They soon started playing follow-the-leader, Harris weaving them around tree trunks at the edge of the clearing, and Merida fell in line behind them. This could be the last time they played together here. The triplets were almost old enough to eschew such pastimes in favor of ever more elaborate pranks; with a sick feeling she thought that they were probably doing this for her, one final time. Tears pricked at her vision and she dragged her sleeve roughly across her eyes.

Soon Hubert raced ahead to overtake Harris, accidentally bowling him over in the process; Hamish jumped onto Hubert in retaliation, or more likely just because. Hubert managed to wriggle free of his hold and took off into the forest, the others in pursuit. She watched them go with a wistful smile, knowing full well that she couldn't follow anymore.

At least their departure granted her a respite from men. She moved carefully behind a tree to peek out at them: most of them still sat talking, but two were ignoring her mum's displeased frown and lay on their stomachs to arm-wrestle. She rolled her eyes. _Two more to leave out_, she thought. It came as a shock to realize how few of the suitors she'd actually considered viable choices. It was even more of a shock to realize that after last night the number had dropped to two.

She stumbled forward and sank onto a stump, cradling her head in her hands. Her mind reeled. What she was about to do, what would happen in just a few days, had never seemed as real as it did then.

"Hey," a quiet voice said nearby. Her head shot up and she looked around wildly. Perched on a rock just outside the treeline, his body facing the glade but his head turned toward her, was Hiccup. "You okay?"

She nodded. He twisted in her direction under the guise of cracking his back. "Nobody can see you there if you want to keep hiding," he said, his voice amused but kind.

"I'm not hiding."

"Okay." He turned the other way. "Do you want me to leave?"

She shrugged, but his back was to her. "No."

"Do you want me to stop talking?"

She paused for a moment, then said quietly, "No."

"Okay. I'll just be here, looking like I'm talking to myself." She laughed softly. "I think most of them think I'm crazy already, so it doesn't really matter."

"They might not think you're crazy if they hadn't heard that you jumped off the bridge."

"And landed exactly where I meant to." He sounded indignant, and she saw him spread his arms as he asked, "What's crazy about that?"

"Nothing, nothing at all."

He hmphed at the sing-song lilt in her voice. "Those were some interesting songs last night."

"You were there? I didn't see you." Why did she wish he of all people hadn't witnessed it?

"I was talking to some of the guys from Clan MacGuffin. I might've been behind the chief." He glanced at her quickly, eyebrow quirked, and she giggled.

"You don't sing?" She scooted around on the stump to face him.

"Nope. It wouldn't have helped me any to embarrass myself in front of everyone, either."

"Discretion is the better part of valor, Mum says."

He let out a short bark of a laugh. "Try telling that to my dad. Or yours, for that matter." He leaned down and picked up a stick, angling his body toward her as he straightened again. Head down, he stripped the twigs from the stick in his lap as he spoke.

"Anyway, being able to sing didn't actually seem to help the guy who won."

"He thought he could manipulate me and get away with it," she said, glowering. She didn't want to admit that he'd succeeded; he'd gotten her to agree to judge the contest, to name him winner, to reward him with what he wanted. The thought of it, his machinations and her failure to avoid them, still made her angry. Her voice was hard as she went on, "Anyone who thinks this is a game and I am the prize will soon find himself disappointed."

Hiccup looked up at her. Despite her defiant tone her chin had dropped, her expression dimmed. He didn't care about any of the other guys there; he just hoped she wouldn't be the one who ended up disappointed.

* * *

This could be a nice life.

To her surprise, Domnall had approached her as they packed up the picnic and suggested target practice in the morning. He couldn't have come up with a better idea; she hadn't touched her bow since the gathering had begun, and the idea of shooting made her grin in relief. His broad face had shone with happiness when she nodded her agreement, and they met on the field where the targets were still set up after the competition—one that she had neither participated in nor watched. The tug of the string against her fingers as she drew, the restrained hiss of the arrow in flight, the thud of the iron head into the target was immensely satisfying. She fired nearly a dozen arrows before remembering that someone else was waiting to shoot; then she blushed and gathered them up before she watched him shoot, holding her tongue the entire time.

Though he was a terrible archer, Domnall was sweet. If they married he would eventually get over his tendency to go red-faced and stammering when she smiled at him; though to be honest, his reaction made her feel beautiful. Deep down, though, she knew that that wasn't enough.

She kept thinking as she took her place to shoot again. Even if she never found herself madly in love with him, if all she could muster was an appreciative fondness for his quiet presence, they could be happy. She could bear his children and be a faithful wife; she could be the kind of wife he deserved, excepting that she'd never love him as ardently as he seemed to her. But they could have a nice life all the same.

It was his turn, but he didn't move to the mark. Instead he stood before her, looking down into her face, bow clutched in one hand. As tall as he was, he really needed a longer bow, she thought distantly; that would have to help matters. "Merida," he said, flushed but determined, "can I kiss you?"

Her heart stuttered. It wouldn't be her first now, no thanks to Col, but in terms of permission it would be. Would it be his first as well, or had someone else come before? Should she say no, wait to share this moment with her betrothed? Or would it be better to erase the last experience, to try it with someone who cared more for her than for his own pride? He stared, hopeful, and she admired him for asking when he knew that she might say no, and that her mother likely wouldn't approve. If nothing else, his courage deserved a reward, and she'd rather have his kiss to think about than Col's. She nodded.

He leaned forward, his face slowly filling her vision until she shut her eyes, if only to stop from feeling overwhelmed. His lips were hesitant and warm, moving gently against hers, demanding nothing.

It was nice.

When they parted and she opened her eyes it was to a rapturous expression on his face. "Thank you," he said huskily. "Now if you pick someone else, I'll at least have had that."

She smiled and did her best not to cry.

* * *

By the end of the first week more than a few of the men had gone. Some had sneaked away, as if no one would notice, but more had begged leave of the royal family, citing the need to return home for various reasons or saying nothing, graciously not acknowledging that they knew they'd no chance.

After a group of them had said farewell at midday Fergus let out a sigh of relief. "That's good news for the larder," he said, and Merida nodded. He gave her a too-searching look that she saw him wear with distressing frequency these days. "I hope you're not disappointed, lass."

"Not really." Maybe she should have begged them to stay, or made a show of sadness; that wouldn't have been right, though. False feeling would be more insulting than a cordial acceptance of their parting words, though, and she respected them who had the sense to cut their losses. And she was glad there would be fewer people around. She felt like she could breathe more easily than she had done in months.

What was it like to be courted by only one man? Imagine being able to devote all of one's attention to a single suitor, to have months to learn about his habits and quirks, to accept a proposal already knowing that one loved the man. Her dad had courted her mum, even though their marriage had been arranged; whatever he'd done had worked, because the pair of them loved each other deeply. They'd all agreed to let a suitor win her heart before her hand, but that mightn't—probably wouldn't, really—happen at this rate. Maybe it would have to be enough to offer her hand to someone she could grow to love over time, someone who could eventually love her in return, someone who could understand and wait with her.


	7. Chapter 7

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* * *

"I heard it carried off a cow in each paw."

"What, two cows?"

"No, four, you pillock."

"Why would it carry off cows? _I_ heard it eats metal—specially iron."

"But iron is heavy. How could it fly with a belly full of ploughs and all?"

The tales grew ever more outlandish the more time passed. She wasn't sure what was worse: the stories themselves or the fact that no one thought to consult the people who knew the answers. Well, no more.

She caught the sleeve of a servant and made her request, along with a hissed addendum to try to be discreet. As if no one would notice, with her sitting at the head table and people watching her every move.

The girl bent to whisper in his ear and Merida saw the men across from him grin and nudge each other. If they thought she was flirting with him, all the better. She moved away as he nodded, then put his hand on his father's shoulder and stood, jerking his other thumb behind him. Hiccup left the table and then the hall entirely; after a moment he returned and skirted around the edge of the room to the dais, where he looked up at her with a quizzical expression. She waved for him to join her.

"Was that discreet enough for you?"

She sighed. "I meant for her to be discreet in asking you, not for you to wander about like that. Thank you, though," she added. "I hate having all of them analyzing every single thing I do."

He resisted the urge to look around the room, where several pairs of eyes were doubtless trained on them. Now that he thought about it his skin started crawling, and he had to fight not to slump down in his seat. Instead he focused on Merida—but took care not to focus _too_ much. "Did you want me for something?" he asked. As the sentence unspooled between them he heard how awkward it sounded and wished he could say it again with different, less embarrassing words.

She merely nodded, curls bobbing. "Will you tell me about it? Please?"

He glanced down at his leg. There wasn't anything more to the story than what she'd already heard. "It?"

"Him, I suppose. All I know is what I've heard in fairy stories, and now all the rumors." She gestured to the room and the people he was fast forgetting were there.

"Oh, _him_." He grinned in relief, glad not to have to talk about himself. There really wasn't anything like the Night Fury, nothing to compare him to, but he did his best, using his hands to sketch the shape of a broad head in the air, the span of wings. Merida imagined that the way Hiccup looked now, proud and affectionate, must be the way she looked talking about Angus—though if she were to be entirely honest, the dragon meant more to Hiccup, and he to the dragon, than her mount did to her. The bond they had was deeper, stronger, forged in blood and fire, loss and courage and sacrifice. They were brothers-in-arms, each willing to kill and to die for the other. No one whose blood she didn't share felt that way about her. She'd consider herself lucky if anyone ever did.

An empty hollow appeared in her stomach at the realization. To distract herself from it she focused on his face. She was sure that though hair stubbled his jaw he'd never have as ample a beard as his dad had. The swelling from Ewan's blow was receding, the bruise across his cheek a dull purplish-grey; he smiled as he enthused about Toothless, everything from his speed to his intelligence to his color.

"Next to impossible to see in the dark, which is great until you have to get up in the middle of the night and end up with a faceful of dragon," he was saying with a chuckle, "but in the sunlight he's got darker spots. It's subtle; I think it helps with camouflage, because nothing in nature is all one solid color, you know? And his eyes are amazing, they're this brilliant green—"

"Like yours?" She'd been quiet for so long that he'd just assumed he'd bored her so much that she'd quit paying attention; the question caught him off-guard. She was staring at him now, looking right into his widened eyes—eyes she knew the color of, apparently. He licked his lips.

"No, I—they're lighter than mine, I think. More like…" He tried to come up with a decent comparison, though right now she was being illogically distracting, watching him that way. "Like yours would be, if they were green. That bright and clear."

Her mouth formed a perfect little o and her cheeks pinked. When she broke eye contact he hoped he hadn't offended her. He didn't think he had, but girls could be unpredictable. Maybe they didn't appreciate being compared to dragons, even if it was in a nice way.

But then she sighed bitterly. "I'm starting to think I'll never get to see him. Every time I think I'll have a chance you're busy, or my mum gives me something to do, or one of the stupid suitors appears wanting my attention." She looked up to see him with one eyebrow raised.

"I think I've just been insulted," he said.

"No, no! Not you. I keep forgetting that you're a suitor."

"Because I'm not stupid?"

She bit her lip, though the corner of her mouth still turned up. "I never said that."

"Okay, now I know I've just been insulted." He smiled back, though, unable to feel hurt when her eyes were sparkling like that.

"With the others it's so obvious what they want, why they're here. With you it's like you and your dad are just visiting, like you used to. Whenever we talk I forget about what I have to do." She stopped, pressing her lips shut and fiddling with a cup. If she didn't stop now she'd say something embarrassing, or scare him away. Because with him things felt normal and right and yet full of possibility. His company wasn't something to endure; she found herself looking forward to it, even seeking it out.

He watched her draw into herself again, grow quiet and reserved, and he shifted uncomfortably. After a moment of studying her and thinking, he asked, "What about now?"

"Sorry?" She looked up, confusion clouding her expression.

Hiccup leaned forward conspiratorially. "Your mom's busy being hostess, the suitors are all occupied, and I'm right here. Can you think of any reason we shouldn't go now?"

Of course she could—or rather her mother's presence in her head could, pointing out that it would soon be dark, and it would be rude to leave the hall, and she shouldn't be going anywhere with any of the suitors unchaperoned. It wouldn't be proper to go…but it would be _her_. She'd been so good for so long, and it was suffocating her. She couldn't spend the rest of her life acting appropriately all the time, following rules blindly, and she couldn't spend it with someone who'd want her to. Hiccup's suggestion ignited a spark in her blood, one that was aided in no small measure by the encouraging smile on his lips and the way his voice had dropped when he offered. She bit her lip hard against a grin.

"I'll go first," she said, and his smile widened. "It'll take me a few minutes to slip out, so don't follow right away. When I've left the hall, go talk to your father. Tell him…"

"That I'm going to check on Toothless."

"Right. I'll meet you on the beach."

"Got it."

Merida drained the rest of her cup. "If you will excuse me, my lord," she said, rising, and he stood as well and gave a little bow. They'd definitely attracted the room's notice now. He remained where he was until she'd disappeared, carefully not watching her go. Then he left the table to join Stoick.

"How's it going?"

He shrugged. "Fine, I think."

"Looked more than fine from here."

He rolled his eyes. "I think I bored her with dragon talk. Hey, she asked!" he defended himself at the chief's stern look. "What was I supposed to do, refuse to tell her anything?"

"When it comes to women, you have to listen more than you talk. What does she like? What does she want?"

"She's still Merida. She likes the same stuff she did last time we were here. And she doesn't want all this." He waved his hand at the hall, filled with men currying favor and hoping for advancement, for the power that came of marrying the future queen. The idea of her marrying some of these men made him suddenly nauseous, and he silently thanked Elinor and Fergus and all the lords for agreeing to let Merida choose. "She doesn't want to be courted. Not like this."

"Then don't," Stoick said simply. "Don't push. Don't try too hard. Just be yourself."

Hiccup dropped his head into one hand. "Yeah. 'Cause that's so impressive."

"It is, whether you believe it or not. Besides, if she still likes the same things she did back then, you'll be fine."

They'd been kids then. It didn't stop his cheeks from heating up. "She doesn—didn't—doesn't like me like that, though."

"And here I thought you didn't care if she picked you or not." Stoick laughed off the glare his son sent him.

"I'm gonna go check on Toothless."

The first time around none of this had been her idea, but now it was, her idea and her choice. He couldn't imagine what that must feel like, having the burden of not only making the best of a less-than-ideal situation but also knowing that this one choice would affect the entire kingdom. Merida deserved to be happy. She deserved to find love. And she was prepared to sacrifice that for the sake of her people. He had to admire that, but he didn't like it.

He could help. Until she chose, he could be her friend, and afterward he could support her. And he'd tell his dad to make a treaty with Fergus anyway. Nobody had to get married to agree to help each other out.

* * *

She was suddenly glad her mum had made her wait and her dad had seen him first. Without his warning she might have quailed at the dragon's superficial resemblance to Mor'du; though as she let out her breath she saw that all the two had in common were general size and color. The dragon's eyes were wide and curious and just as green as Hiccup said. She dropped a curtsey without thinking. The dragon cocked his head and almost seemed to smile.

"Merida, this is Toothless. Toothless, this is Merida. She's an old friend."

She was transfixed by him. He was even better than Hiccup's description; his skin shone warmly in the glow of the setting sun and his wings were folded neatly against his sides. He was entirely alien and unexpected and nothing like the book said. "You're a gorgeous thing," she breathed.

Hiccup stood by, arms folded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. She liked him. He felt foolish for doubting that she would. "May I?" she asked, hand raised, and Toothless stepped forward in answer, pushing his nose against her, past her hand and nudging into her midsection. She laughed, breathless with exhilaration, as her hand slid over the smooth hide, fingertips reading the texture of his skin, and Hiccup shivered. He didn't think he'd ever felt so jealous of his best friend before.

Toothless chirruped and purred and she laughed again. "What were those fools thinking of?" she murmured. Anyone who could look a dragon in the eye and kill it was no hero. Toothless turned his head to track her as she traveled down his side, studying him. He hadn't moved much since she'd got there but she could see the potential in every limb and curve of him, could practically see him flying even now.

She circled back around to stand in front of him again, hands on her hips. "I could almost die happy having seen him."

"Almost?"

Merida turned away from him then. "We haven't gone for a ride yet." When Hiccup didn't move right away she said, "Come now, Hiccup, you can't bring a girl out to a deserted spot, introduce her to your dragon, and not expect her to want a ride." She grinned, though she knew that she shouldn't have said it; it wasn't polite or proper. Her cheeks were warm, though she trusted the sun's setting to hide it. But she wasn't sorry—she couldn't be, not for saying something true and right, asking for something that she yearned for, for the first time in a long time. She felt her hand tremble where it rested against Toothless.

The lilt in her voice as she said his name, the faint light on her hair, the way she stroked Toothless' head, all of it threatened to send him into sensory overload. Gobber had joked more than once that the two of them must have been able to read each others' minds, what with the way they moved in sync so effortlessly. Toothless and Hiccup communicated better than many an old married couple, he'd chuckled, and one of them didn't even speak. Hiccup had always treasured his bond with Toothless, and he was pretty sure the dragon felt the same way. Now he wondered if they really had developed some kind of mental link; he wasn't sure how else to explain the fact that it felt like she was touching him when she was a respectable distance away.

Without waiting for his permission she climbed astride and adjusted her seat, trying to make herself comfortable. It was different from sitting on Angus—Toothless' back was wider, his saddle lighter, and there were no reins to speak of, only handholds near his neck.

Did she have to wiggle her hips like that? Was it really _necessary_? And Toothless had just let her get on his back without any hesitation. He wasn't sure whether to feel betrayed or relieved; without his input his heart settled on swelling with wild hope.

She looked down at him imperiously, like she was born for her present position. She really would have made a better Viking than him. "Are you coming?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You're not going anywhere without me," he said confidently.

Girl and dragon both fixed him with the same unimpressed look, to which Toothless added flicking his head impatiently, like he knew Hiccup was only postponing the inevitable. "Alright, fine," he muttered, dropping his arms and crossing to them. "Scoot back a little."

"I want to be in front," she said, pouting slightly, and Hiccup thought of her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. He swallowed.

"Maybe next time," he managed.

She stared down, her expression flickering between attempted seriousness and delight. They hadn't even left the ground yet and she already knew she wanted a next time. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Her grin was so wide that her face felt fit to split, and she moved back some to let him throw a leg over Toothless' back. His feet slipped into the stirrups and he tugged at straps before leaning forward. "Try to keep it under control, bud," he said.

Merida leaned forward to address the dragon as well. "Quick as you can, Toothless."

Like he needed any encouragement. "She doesn't have a harness, Toothless."

"I trust you," she said, patting Toothless' side. Then she put her arms loosely around Hiccup's stomach. "And you."

Everything within him lurched, and Toothless leapt.

Her body was on the dragon's back but her stomach had stayed somewhere below, and took its time catching up. Toothless' wings worked steadily, their motion graceful; it was all impossibly smooth. She'd thought that Ewan's horse had a gait like silk, but silk dragged across the forest floor was nothing compared to silk floating through the air, with nothing to snag on, nothing to slow it down. Or almost nothing: somehow there were currents in the wind, streams his wings billowed over. "He's so fast," she murmured.

Hiccup smirked, though the wonder and admiration in her voice pleased him. Okay, he'd told Toothless to be careful, but they could afford to risk a little more speed. He leaned forward. "Hear that, bud? She thinks this is fast." Toothless snorted. He'd show her what fast really was. "Hang on," Hiccup called over his shoulder, and she just had time to tighten her grip before they shot forward.

Merida's yelp of surprise soon transformed into a triumphant whoop. Tears streamed from her eyes as the wind whipped past. She felt as if she'd awoken from a long sleep, the sort that accompanied an illness. The air that rushed into her nostrils was bitingly fresh, cool and smelling of water and the hills and something that must have been Hiccup. Here and now, in the most fantastical of situations, everything felt more real than the weeks that had come before.

All too soon they slowed. Toothless rose to what seemed an unimaginable height, high enough that they looked down on the castle, the courtyards already glowing with torchlight and pale golden squares marking out the bedrooms in the tower. Below them the loch lay shimmering with the last bit of sunlight. It was more beautiful than she ever could have dreamed, and Merida felt a swell of pride and affection for her home so great that for a moment it was hard to breathe.

As Toothless descended toward the shore her stomach seemed to float freely within her until the dragon touched down with a slight bump. Hiccup hopped easily to the ground, then reached up to take Merida's hand and help her down. She hadn't needed help down from a horse in years, and if it was offered she refused on principle. But she felt addled all of a sudden, like she'd stepped from a rocking boat onto dry land; her body didn't know she had stopped moving, and she wasn't sure she could trust her legs to hold her. So she didn't hesitate to slip her hand into Hiccup's and throw her leg over the saddle, sliding to the ground. Her head spun a little as she walked to Toothless' head; Hiccup let her hand drop, though she felt his eyes watching her closely. She stroked Toothless' nose, just as she would do Angus', looking into his eyes as they shone in the twilight. He blinked slowly, and she would swear he understood what she couldn't find the words to say.

How was she meant to go back to the castle, to her room or, heaven forbid, the great hall after that? How did Hiccup walk anywhere when flying was an option? Her limbs felt heavy, a weight she'd never noticed before; a wordless wonder had pushed everything else from her heart. They didn't speak as they made their way back up to the castle, not until she stopped out of sight of the guards.

In the gloaming he looked older, far older than she felt. The man before her seemed almost like a stranger, accomplished and brave, a suitor worthy of a princess, worthy of a throne. Though a strange shyness threatened to overcome her, she took his hand, rough, warm, and somehow familiar, in both of hers. "Thank you."

The flippant response that she didn't need to thank him since Toothless had done the flying never left his mouth. It couldn't, not when her thanks was so heartfelt. Her hair was mussed from the flight; he nearly lifted his free hand to brush a coil of it back from her cheek, but stopped himself just in time. "You're welcome," he said finally, the words woefully inadequate. Her eyes really were beautiful, he thought as she murmured a good night and dropped his hand, and her smile was sweet and all the more welcome because of its genuineness.


	8. Chapter 8

Merida shuffled down the corridor, combing fingers through her hair. She missed the days when she could wander the castle without having to make herself presentable first; it was another reason to look forward to the end of all this.

Her parents' room was empty, as she'd expected, but she heard Elinor's voice somewhere nearby. "Mum?" she called.

"In here." She found her in the library, seated next to Hiccup; their heads were bent over a book open on the table, and with a finger he traced an arc over something there. Elinor nodded before she noticed her daughter.

"Good morning, Merida. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." But with Hiccup's eyes on her she suddenly wished she'd fixed her hair before she'd left her room. _He doesn't care_, she told herself, but she smoothed her hair down one last time before dropping her hands. "Good morning, Hiccup."

"Morning, Merida." He looked loads more awake than she felt.

"What are you two doing?" She took a few steps into the room.

"Hiccup was showing me the similarities between our art and Viking art. It's really very interesting."

He pushed the book around so that she could see it. It wasn't a real book, as she'd first assumed, but a sketchbook; he tapped a familiar symbol, the three bears. "That's your style, obviously," he said, and then flipped pages backward to an undulating, stylized dragon's head. "And that's ours."

As Merida bent to study them her mum rose gracefully. "I'll go see to your breakfast," she said. "Don't be too long."

"Thanks, Mum," she said absently. She flipped between the two pictures, chewing the side of her lip.

Hiccup leaned across the table to point. "See, they've both got the same kind of flowing lines. There's a lot of movement in both. But we would never have animals connected the way you do."

"How would you do it?"

He smiled and pulled the book back in front of him, turning to a blank page and picking up a charcoal stick. "Our bears—if we had them; any bears on Berk are usually pretty lost—would either be grabbing each other with their claws, maybe getting a bite in there for good measure, or they'd have their legs intertwined." She watched him sketch out the two possibilities, charcoal moving fluidly over the page, expression intent. And she was barely awake.

"I don't see how you can do all this first thing in the morning."

"Ah, you know," he said, drawing something only just recognizable as a bear, "I'm used to early starts. Toothless doesn't really believe in sleeping in." He glanced up, hair falling in his eyes and a wry smile on his face, and her heart skipped.

Her cheeks were warm. To keep him from noticing she blurted, "I remember this. You drawing."

"Really?"

"We were here. Our dads had been looking at a map."

He nodded slowly. "The atlas was taller than you."

"And you." Back then he hadn't been so much taller than she was.

"I have no recollection of that." One corner of his mouth curled up, belying his words. Merida huffed, going to a bookshelf to hide her smile.

"They left it out," she said over her shoulder before dragging down what she hoped was the right book. "And you wanted to see how far away Berk was from here." He let her heave the book onto the table and open it, lifting thick parchment pages. "There," she said, pointing, and he stood to look.

DunBroch was just visible at the bottom, with the Highlands stretching out above, Orkneys and Shetlands trailing off into the sea. There was a cluster of islands further out, the archipelago that Berk was a part of. All of it, mainland and islands alike, was labeled with the names of the tribes or clans that lived in each area; but someone had also drawn two figures on the map, a curly-haired and crowned girl and a boy wearing a horned helmet. The boy's body was smudged slightly, with half of a fingerprint in ink next to his head.

He smiled down at the people. "I was worried that your mom was going to yell at me for that. I was always more scared of her than of your dad."

"She wouldn't have yelled at you, she'd have yelled at _me_. You were safe, since you were a guest."

"Now you tell me," he said, and she chuckled. He knocked his shoulder gently against hers. "If it makes you feel better, I always felt bad whenever you got in trouble for anything. Well, almost always."

"That does make me feel better."

"Yeah?"

"No." She grinned and he rolled his eyes.

Before she could close the book he grabbed a nearby pot of ink with a pen stuck in it and quickly sketched a Night Fury by the young Hiccup, then added a brief runic inscription. "Here there be dragons," he said with no small measure of satisfaction.

Merida straightened and put her hands on her hips. "Going to get that tattooed over your heart, are you?"

"Who says I don't have it already?" he challenged coolly. It was convincing enough to make her wonder.

"You don't!"

Hiccup raised an eyebrow. "Don't I?"

"You can't."

He shrugged. "If you're sure." She narrowed her eyes and stared at him for a long moment; then, in a move he never would have predicted, she lunged.

Though he hadn't had much experience there, he wouldn't have expected a woman tugging at his shirt to be quite so terrifying. "What are you doing?" he squeaked, trying not to overturn the chairs as he backed away.

"Show me," she demanded, stalking after him. "If you've got a tattoo—which you haven't—then prove it."

"Or you could just trust me?"

"Now where would be the fun in that?"

He maneuvered the table between them, and she leaned against it, palms flat on the wood. For a moment the obstacle kept her at bay, though she probably wouldn't hesitate to climb over it if it meant getting what she wanted. Merida had a feral grin on her face, one that was plenty familiar—years ago that look had almost always preceded something fun or forbidden or both. Now, as they stared at each other, he saw her expression change: her eyes widen as if with some sudden realization, the grin slip away. He started to ask what was wrong when her tongue darted out to wet her lips. _Oh_. The air seemed to thicken.

Something was making her dizzy. One minute they were remembering their childhood together, laughing over some foolish thing like they were children still; the next he was catching her staring at him, his expression first concerned and then aware, like he'd figured something out that she hadn't yet. Her blood was fizzing inside her veins; she felt short of breath and almost achy. She straightened slowly, hands dropping to her sides as she tried to control the nonsensical trembling that threatened to overcome her.

"Merida," he said, quietly, and she did tremble.

Damn the table between them. If it weren't there… She didn't know what would happen, but she wouldn't mind finding out.

Into the charged stillness of the library Harris popped his head. "Mum says come have your breakfast, Merida." She didn't move, staring at Hiccup until Harris shouted impatiently, "Merida!"

She tore her gaze away from Hiccup and walked to the door, her legs moving automatically, Harris already scampering back down the hall. _Don't stop_, she told herself; if she paused even a moment, if she looked back over her shoulder and saw him watching, the way she desperately wanted to, the way she hoped he was, she'd never break free.

As she mechanically spooned porridge into her mouth, she didn't know if she'd want to.

* * *

"I think I have a problem."

Stoick had a good idea what his son's imagined problem was. He wasn't sure he'd be able to help—he'd been clueless about this sort of thing himself, even with Viking women; foreign ones were a whole different kettle of fish altogether. But at the very least he could listen, and maybe, with the help of the gods above, he'd be able to say something that wouldn't scar the boy for life. "What problem's that?"

"I think I like Merida."

Got it in one. Stoick mentally patted himself on the back. "I see. Why do you only _think_ you like her?"

"I don't know. At first she wasn't acting like herself, or not like I remembered her, and I just wanted to figure out what was different. Now she seems back to normal, I guess, but it's still weird."

"Why?"

Hiccup hoped he wasn't blushing as he admitted, "She doesn't…look at me the same." Not the same as she used to, and not the same as she looked at anyone else. "And I don't know if she likes me, and if she does if it's just because of the dragon thing. If I like her and she picks someone else…" It would hurt. His own hurt wasn't the important thing, though, or wasn't supposed to be. He tried to remember his resolution to help her, to support her no matter her decision. It was somewhat more difficult now that he had a more vested interest in that decision. But it would be okay. It wasn't like he _loved_ her or anything.

He was quiet for long enough that Stoick took it as his cue to dispense some fatherly wisdom. If only he knew what that was. He should have talked about this with Gobber before they left; he would know what to say right now. Maybe. "My advice is for you to do what you do best."

Hiccup looked blank. "What, fall over?" he deadpanned. "Make a fool of myself and nearly burn something down in the process?"

"No, you idiot. Find the answer. Once you know for sure how she feels, you'll be able to figure out how to proceed."

"How do I find out how she feels?"

Why did his son insist on overcomplicating things? Stoick threw his hands into the air. "Odin's beard, you're supposed to be the smart one! You might start by asking her."

* * *

Merida had to face facts. There were only a few days left; she had, perhaps unconsciously and perhaps not, narrowed her focus to two of the suitors; and she had no idea what it might be like to be married to either of them, or even what they thought of the idea. She hadn't learned the answers to those final questions through anything they'd done thus far—picnics and rides and target practices may have revealed some insights into their characters, but they didn't tell her much about what would happen in the months and years after her wedding. It seemed the time had come for a more direct approach.

She found him in the courtyard with Lord MacGuffin, speaking quickly in Doric. When they saw her they paused and bowed. She nodded back and said, "Domnall, would you care to join me for a walk?"

"Of course, my lady." He nodded to his father and went to Merida's side. She briefly contemplated going into the kitchen garden; it would be a pleasant place to talk, buzzing with bees and scented by the herbs and flowers, and there was a shady spot in one corner where she and her brothers had napped as children. But if she wanted Domnall to talk openly, they'd need significantly more privacy and quiet than a place so close to the house afforded. Together they walked to a spot overlooking the loch.

She took a deep breath of fresh air to steady herself before she began. "I wanted to talk to you about plans." He waited, so she went on, choosing her words carefully. It wouldn't do to lead him to expect more than she was ready to promise. "I was wondering what you were…expecting, once you'd married."

"Expecting?"

"What you thought your life would be like." That was nice and noncommittal.

"Happy, I reckon. And peaceful, with any luck. I've already got a few cattle of my own, and a small house to live in with my family. When my dad's time comes I'll be the laird and we'll move into the big house." She marveled at such a long speech for him.

"Are you looking forward to being the lord?"

"I won't mind doing it, but I don't particularly want to. Too much talking to people, ye ken." He looked at her searchingly. "Suppose a queen has to do a lot of that."

"I suppose she does," Merida replied distantly, thoughts far away in MacGuffin territory.

Peaceful and happy. She should be able to be content with that, and living in Domnall's house and helping tend to his herd of shaggy cows. She was a hopeless cook, but maybe his mother would be able to recommend someone who could help her. Cows and children and a quiet life.

He turned to face her, and she forced herself to meet his earnest gaze. "I'd be a good husband," he said, though she didn't need to be told. "I'd do my duty by y—my wife. Respect her, and provide for her, and protect her. I hope she'd care for me, and give me children, but I'd make no demands of her, or force her to do anything against her will."

It was more than she deserved, to be taken care of and adored by a good man. And no matter how she chose, she felt fairly certain that neither he nor his father would turn his back on the king. That was some comfort, at least.

"You're a very kind man, Domnall," she said, looking away to stare out at the hills. "I've no doubt you'd make a wonderful husband, and a good lord over your clan."

"Thank you," he said, pleased. Try as she might, she couldn't think of anything else to ask, and nothing that would calm the churning in her mind and her stomach. So the silence between them stretched on, feeling like a nettle's sting against her nerves.

* * *

The encounter made her want to hide in her room with a plate of cakes for the rest of the day, but time was running short. After some searching she found Hiccup in the forge, talking with the smith. When she entered he was sitting on a stool, his prosthetic leg on a worktop as the smith studied it. "Hi, princess," Hiccup said when he saw her.

The smith looked up and bowed quickly. "Your Highness. How may I be of service?"

"I was wanting to talk to our guest," she said, "but if you're busy, I can wait. I don't want to interrupt."

"Of course you're not interrupting, my lady."

"I'll bring you those plans later, Master Davey," Hiccup said, picking up his leg and hunching over as he reattached it, the intricacies of the process hidden by the counter.

The smith nodded. "At your leisure."

Hiccup stood and bounced slightly on his feet. "Thanks for the oil."

"You're welcome." The two shook hands, and Hiccup followed Merida out of the forge.

"Where to, princess?"

"Don't call me that." She scowled, but he didn't seem bothered.

"I didn't want to seem too familiar." He jerked his head toward the door of the forge. "You don't want a big, strong guy who knows how to use heavy objects thinking you're disrespecting someone important."

It made sense when he put it that way. Things often made sense when he was around.

Trusting that he would follow, she hurried through the courtyard and out the gate, no real destination in mind. He loped along a step or two behind, doubtless out of the deference he thought it proper to show. Sure enough, once they'd crossed the bridge he caught up and walked by her side to the edge of the wood. She slowed as they stepped over the familiar invisible demarcation that meant they could no longer be seen by the guards atop the wall.

Without looking at him she broke the quiet, asking quickly, "What do you think would happen? If we got married?" Her face felt hot; she was sure it was getting unattractively splotchy.

He smirked and looked sideways at her. "Are you asking?"

"You to marry me? No!" Now she knew her face was splotchy. "I was just…wondering."

"I don't know," he said, thwacking at a branch. "There'd be a lot of stuff we had to figure out, I guess. Like where I'd—we'd live. And I'd have to go back to Berk and get the academy worked out. But other than that, what every day would be like, I don't know." He thought it could be nice, though, living here, soaring above the lake on Toothless' back, visiting with the king and queen, spending time with Merida. Building a life with her, exploring and adventuring and studying together, making her laugh, sharing her bed to get those heirs; warmth pooled in his stomach at the idea of having all that with her.

He coughed a little to clear his throat. "What do you think it'd be like?"

It would be strange. Wouldn't it? They were friends; you didn't marry your friend. A little voice in the back of her mind told her that it would probably be much less strange than she expected. "Like it is now, maybe," she mused. "I'll still have my lessons and duties—not even being married could get me out of those for long. But someone else will be with me for much of the time." If marriage meant at the very least having to spend a lot of time with one other person, it would only make sense to marry someone you didn't mind having around.

When she stole a glance at him, his expression was serious and thoughtful, his eyebrows drawn together. She dropped her gaze when he looked down at her. "This doesn't seem fair," he said. "How can they give you two weeks and expect you to choose?"

"They've given me more than enough time to find love on my own. Now I need to make a choice."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how love works."

"Have you ever been in love?"

He answered slowly, slowly enough for dread to creep down her spine. "I was in love with the idea of someone for a long time."

"What happened?"

She hated the far-off look on his face as he answered. "Nothing. And everything. We've known each other our whole lives, and she was never actually mean to me, not like some of the others. Then this happened—" He gestured down at his leg. "—and I think she thought I deserved her. Like, as a reward. Not that she still didn't make me work for it," he added in a mutter.

"I was okay with it—more than okay, believe me—for a long time. But after a while…" He shrugged. "I kind of felt like the village had sacrificed her to me. Here, you saved us all, take this girl you've always wanted. Don't get me wrong, I love her. She's amazing, and we get along great. But she's never been in love with me, and I'm not in love with her."

There was absolutely no reason for Merida to feel so relieved.

"It makes me hate this so much more. I don't want you to give up your chance to be happy. Especially not because of me." He shook his head.

A few days ago she'd thought he was like all the rest of them, only interested in her for glory and riches, for the power and privilege that being married to a princess would bring. What a fool she was. Yes, he was easily one of the most accomplished of the suitors, if his father's story was to be believed; and unlike the others, he had evidence of its truth, in his new leg and in the dragons. And yes, he was bonny, all lithe and wiry, with that smile and the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen. But his eyes saw things that others missed, things about her that she'd hoped to keep hidden behind a veneer of proper posture and pretty speech, and when he grinned there was still the gap between his front teeth that she'd wished she had when she was eight, to spit raspberry pips through. Talking with him was as easy as it had ever been. And he wanted her to be happy, even if it meant she married someone else.

Merida bit her lip. Then she reached out, more hesitantly than she had to touch a dragon for the first time, and caught his arm.

"You don't—"

"I want to." Before she could second-guess herself, she rose onto her toes, screwed her eyes shut, and kissed him.

For a second he stood stock still and her heart sank. Then he tilted his head just so and pressed his lips to hers more firmly.

_Nice_ didn't even come close.

* * *

**Note:**

Norse art, particularly the Oseberg style, had a motif called the "gripping beast." The Lingsberg runestones are also a good example of the general style that Hiccup and I were trying to describe.


	9. Chapter 9

So I take it you guys liked the last chapter. ;) Thanks for all the reviews and favorites. I hope you enjoy this one as well.

* * *

He drew back first, brushing his nose against hers before taking half a step back. She opened her eyes slowly, drawing in a shaky breath, gasping all over again at the tender smile she saw, the eyes darker than she remembered them. Him looking like that made her want to grab him by the ears and drag his lips down to hers again. She clutched her hands together in front of her to stop from doing just that. "Say something," she mumbled, more to the ground than to him.

He snorted quietly. "Is that the best you got?"

Her eyes snapped up to the challenge on his face. As she gave in to her earlier impulse she caught the way his lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk; the realization that he'd goaded her into just this reaction didn't bother her too much, not when she could feel his smile beneath her lips.

He was glad when she let go of his ears, partly because it had kind of hurt but mostly because now her fingers were weaving through his hair, catching at the short braid on one side. And he was beyond glad that his gamble had worked—yeah, because she was kissing him again and it was like flying through a thunderstorm while wearing a metal helmet, but also because it was her, the real her. The one who wouldn't back down, who wanted to prove herself just as good as anyone else, if not better: that was the girl he wanted kissing him.

She slid her hands to the back of his neck and pulled herself closer, pressing her chest against his. That made it hard to keep from wrapping his arms around her, and he clenched his fists by his sides, knowing that it was safer to keep his hands off. That way, if anyone happened to see them, it would be clear that his intentions were honorable, and that the princess was under no duress. He nearly snorted; like he could—or more importantly, would—force her to do anything she didn't want to.

Merida was momentarily distracted from the question of why he wasn't touching her by the fact that he had her lower lip trapped between his. She moaned a little at the feeling, vaguely surprised at the sound coming from her own mouth. Then she decided that if she already sounded wanton, she might as well act it, too, and dropped a hand from Hiccup's neck to reach down blindly and catch his wrist; when she found it she guided his hand none too subtly to the small of her back, shivering at the strength of his arm curving around her.

Then his hand slipped forward, pressing gently into her waist before leaving her body. She frowned and pulled back, ready to demand an explanation, though he took the opportunity to brush a kiss against her parted lips and her scowl faded. Her limbs felt heavy and hot, and there was only one way she could think of to stop her lips from tingling. Merida laid a hand against his jaw and leaned forward until he could count the lashes that rimmed her eyes, wide and wanting; then she stopped and stared until he closed the gap, kissing her soft, sweet, sure, and he took her free hand and laced their fingers together.

This time he broke the kiss. He rested his forehead against hers and, eyes closed, listened to the sound of her breathing, ran his thumb over the back of her hand and felt her fingers squeeze his in response, tried not to think of the day coming when she would pick someone else, someone better for the kingdom, and he'd have to say goodbye to her again.

Too little time passed before he broke the silence. "Not that I'm complaining, but that wasn't really what I was expecting when you asked to talk."

Stupid sensible Hiccup. Here he was, able to form complete, coherent sentences, while she was having a hard time standing upright unassisted. Right. They'd been talking about marriage, and how he wanted her to be happy. The thought made her want to kiss him again—that would make her happy.

Hiccup was clever. He was good at analyzing things, seeing the way events fit together; he'd have good advice for her. "What should I do?"

"You know, I'm not really impartial here. Especially not after all that."

"I can't pick who to marry based on who I like kissing more," she said, mostly to herself.

"You've kissed the other guys?"

His eyes were narrowed—was he jealous? Merida felt powerful for a moment. "Aw, did you think you were special?" she cooed mockingly. He didn't look pleased.

Of course he hadn't been her first kiss. He'd seen that Col guy kiss her, though that hardly counted; and it wasn't fair to be jealous, not when Astrid had kissed him so many times, for so many years. And it was probably smart to see if she was, uh, physically compatible with the suitors before she married one of them, and it's not like he had any special claim on her, even though he'd known her longer and better than any of the rest of them.

But if any of them had made her feel the way her kiss made him feel, he was in trouble.

He looked so conflicted, caught between jealousy and understanding, that she couldn't leave him like that. "You're the only one I kissed first," she admitted, pleased when his expression lightened. Her voice dropped as she went on. "You're the only one I kissed more than once. And you're the only one I thought about kissing before it happened."

She was looking up at him through her lashes, biting her lip. He gave up trying to keep out of trouble—it had never panned out for him, especially not when she was around—and brushed his fingertips across her cheek. It was stupid and petty and too soon, but he wanted to make her forget anyone else who had ever kissed her. He cupped the back of her head, tangled her hair around his fingers, and kissed her firmly.

Though she had no skill at flirting, she'd been hoping she could coax another kiss out of him somehow. She hadn't expected this _heat_, though. His fingers tugged gently at her hair, but his mouth was less restrained. Col licking her lips, the very thought of his tongue in her mouth, all of it disgusted her; but here was Hiccup, tongue curling against hers, and the last thing she felt was disgusted. Her knees felt shivery and she raised a hand to steady herself, resting her palm flat against his chest, feeling the faint bump of his pulse. When she felt sure her legs weren't about to give way she tipped her chin up a bit and ran the tip of her tongue over the roof of his mouth.

Hiccup snaked his other arm around her waist again, pulling her closer. As good as it felt to kiss her senseless, it was infinitely better to have her willing and active, fingers curling into his chest, twisting his shirt as they kissed, growing more confident, demanding more with every moment that passed. But if they kept this up any longer he was going to start seeing stars from the lack of air. He eased back slowly, chuckling when she whined.

With hands on her shoulders he led her to the base of a tree and pushed her carefully down. She sat none too gracefully and pouted up at him with swollen lips. "Stay," he said, shaking a finger in mock sternness. He moved a few paces away and sat facing her with his back against another tree.

"New rule," he said, stretching his legs out in front of him and wincing slightly as he did, rubbing his left knee. "No more touching. Not until we've finished talking."

He was probably right, but she glared at him anyway. Very deliberately she stretched out her own legs toward his; her legs weren't long enough to set her soles flush against his, but if she pointed her toes she could poke them into his feet, and did, defiantly. He ignored her childishness.

"I'm pretty sure the last thing you were saying was how you can't pick based on who you like kissing best." He sounded far too smug and pleased with himself; she nearly regretted telling him that now.

"Aye. No matter what any of them say, I'm certain they want the future king to have more to offer than just being good at kissing." As he preened she said, "Oh, stop gloating, or I won't talk to you. _Or_ kiss you." It felt good to be able to threaten that, and for it to have an effect.

She was supposed to be talking, but her thoughts were aswim in her head. Hiccup waited, thankfully not studying her. Him even sitting across from her, the memory of his skin against hers made her thoughts, of duty and loyalty and fate and desire, harder than ever to sort out.

"Did you ever wish you were just someone normal and not the chief's son?"

The question had him cocking his head in faint confusion, but he answered anyway. "I used to, all the time. But even if my dad wasn't the chief, I'd still be a pretty disappointing Viking, so it wouldn't make too much of a difference to me." He shrugged. "Do you think your life would be better if you weren't the princess?"

"Yes! I wouldn't be having to suffer through all this." She waved a hand at him and then back at the castle.

"Thanks."

"Oh, you know what I mean. If I were just Merida the serving girl—"

An obnoxious burst of laughter interrupted her. "Serving girl?"

"What?" she demanded.

"Like those nice, quiet girls who've been bringing our meals without talking back?"

She scowled at the amusement on his face as he tried to imagine her serving wine at a feast; it would inevitably end with her emptying a ewer over some scallywag's head when he pinched her bum. "Fine. If I were Merida the laundress, laundresses not needing to be polite or genteel, I could marry whoever I truly loved. Or not at all, if I never fell in love."

The prospect of her never falling in love sobered him more than a little. "But Merida the laundress wouldn't have a horse she loved, or the time to ride him. She'd work all day for little pay and even less thanks. No one's ever really free. Would exchanging the princess' problems for the laundress' be worth it?"

"You sound like my mum," she grumbled.

"Guess that's a side effect of being really smart." She kicked at his foot. "What kind of guy would Merida the laundress marry anyway?"

She stared up into the treetops. No one had ever asked her that before, who she'd want to marry in a perfect world. She wasn't sure what she was even supposed to want in a husband, besides that he would be a good king someday. "Someone fun," she began, ignoring his mumbled "Of course." "Someone who wouldn't try to tell me what to do all the time. Someone who could understand that I'm not always as kind or patient or thoughtful as I want to be, and who could forgive me if I shouted at him—alright, _when_ I shouted at him, and who wouldn't mind that I never learned to cook." He chuckled quietly, though she still couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Someone who'd look at me the way my dad looks at Mum, like she's rare and precious and he'd do absolutely anything for her." Her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap. Now that she'd said it aloud, it seemed both exactly what she wanted, and too much to hope for.

"He sounds pretty perfect." And nothing like him. His gut clenched.

Merida cleared her throat. "What about Hiccup the blacksmith? Who would he want to marry?"

"A girl who didn't mind loud noises and the smell of metal would be a good start," he said dryly. "Someone who could look at me and see _me_. Not the failure I used to be, not the hero people think I am; just me."

She had an idea of what it was to fall short of a parent's expectations. But one thing was certain: he was a hero, by any measure of the word, even if he didn't think he was. "They can call you whatever they like. It doesn't change who you are."

"Yeah, who's that?"

There were so many things to say, about how funny and thoughtful and fearless he was, about how he was a good son and a good friend and a good man, that they stuck in her throat. "You're…" She trailed off, tongue-tied, and gestured at him head to toe. "You're just _Hiccup_."

The searching look he gave her made her wish she had come up with something better. Ugh, she was no good with words. Maybe she ought to try again. Everything that came to mind would sound like the kind of fawning flattery that he didn't want to hear, though, no matter how much she meant it.

And then, against the odds and in spite of her awkwardness, he smiled. Again there was that knowing look in his eyes, and it infuriated and terrified her. "We'd better get back," he said, and she all but leapt to her feet, glad to act.

"Right." When he didn't join her immediately she put her fists on her hips and demanded, "Are you coming?"

He stood and brushed bits of leaves from his trousers conscientiously, taking his time, knowing full well that he was testing her patience. Finally he straightened up and met her gaze, steady and a little challenging, and her stomach fluttered. "If you want me to."

"I'm not sure I do," she groused, but when he offered his arm she took it.

* * *

His leg on the table in front of him and a stick of charcoal in hand, Hiccup worked automatically, sketching springs and joints, drawing magnified views of the smallest parts. One edge of the parchment was covered in formulas involving tension and mass and surface area. None of it was new to him, so his mind was free to wander while he drew.

Ever since their talk that afternoon Hiccup had been fighting down nervous excitement. It seemed he had a chance after all. She wouldn't have asked him all those things, about what kind of girl he wanted to marry and what he thought it might be like were the two of them to wed, if she wasn't seriously considering him, right? Part of him wanted to believe that he was the only one she'd asked those things, though another part of him knew that he wasn't that special. Maybe he should have asked her where he stood in the rankings; it hadn't occurred to him when she was so close, though. She did say she'd kissed at least one other of them—and then she'd said she liked kissing him best. He stared unseeing at his foot, a vague grin on his face.

He was sure of one thing: in their little hypothetical world, Hiccup the blacksmith would love Merida the laundress. He'd love her laugh and the way she rolled her eyes whenever he said something silly, though she wouldn't be able to hide the fondness in her expression. He'd love the calluses on her hands and her endless sense of adventure and how she always pushed him for more. He'd make her a ring and build her a house, and he'd kiss her every morning and every night.

As the princess it was her right and her place to ask. That didn't mean he couldn't tell her how he felt first. And if the words wouldn't come out right, he could always show her, the best way he knew how.

* * *

Merida walked aimlessly through the room, picking things up and putting them down again. Elinor smiled at her stitching, wondering when or if her daughter would admit that she wanted to talk. She'd wait as long as she could stand it before she asked Merida what she was thinking of; perhaps the girl was just working up the courage to speak. She had no problems expressing her anger or excitement, but she shied away from discussing matters of the heart.

After a particular gusty sigh, Elinor looked over her shoulder. "Something on your mind, dear?" she asked mildly.

Apparently that was all the encouragement she needed to drop onto the floor near her mum's feet. "I have to decide soon," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, "and I don't know what to do."

"Surely you must have some idea of who you'll pick. You have at least narrowed it down."

"Yes, I have. Down to two, really."

"Two?" That was better than she'd dared hope. Elinor thought she had a good idea which two suitors Merida had in mind, though she wouldn't ask if Merida didn't offer.

"One of them likes me, rather a lot. He might even love me. He's a good lad; he's strong and kind. Most of the clans would be happy if I chose him, and I know he'll be a good husband." That was Domnall MacGuffin, Elinor was sure.

"And the other?"

Merida sighed and played with her hair all the more. "He's…" _Hiccup_, Elinor supplied; the name alone was a sufficient summary. "He's the smartest man I've ever known. He's brave and humble and good—better than me by miles. When he went through a rebellious phase, it actually improved everyone else's life, and he didn't have to turn anyone into a bear."

She didn't seem to realize she was speaking aloud as she went on. "With him everything feels natural. I don't have to explain, or hide who I am, because he knows me. He knows me, and likes me anyway, and doesn't want me to be anything other than what I am." She seemed amazed by the idea, and Elinor could understand why she would be, after all the years her mother had spent trying to shape her into someone else.

"It sounds as if you know already what you want," the queen said gently.

"What I want, aye." She saw Merida touch her lips and smile, then duck her head shyly. After a moment Elinor realized that she shouldn't have been surprised that their affection had been expressed physically; she remembered what it was like to be young and smitten with a handsome lad. Any disapproval of their actions was outweighed by her heart swelling to see her daughter so happy. She'd had her doubts about the boy at first, but he'd been the only one to voice concern about Merida, maybe the only one to even notice that something wasn't right with her; that went a long way in convincing a mother of his worth.

Merida looked up at her mum. "But is what I want what's best for all of us? Will I always feel this way? Will the lords accept him, or will they protest, since he's not a Scot?" She'd either forgotten, or had given up trying to pretend that she wasn't talking about Hiccup. "I can't make the kingdom suffer for what I want right now, when I don't even know if it's what I'll want in the future."

Elinor put her needle aside and turned on her stool to face the girl. "No matter whom you choose to marry, the way you feel about him now will most certainly not be the way you always feel about him. The way I feel about your father isn't the same today as it was the day I married him; it's changed, because we've both of us changed. I love him more now than I did then, and I hope you'll be able to say the same one day." Merida blushed lightly.

"The lords promised to abide by your decision, and your father will see to it that they do. He and I will support your decision. Either of the young men you've talked about would be a fine husband to you, but the choice is yours to make. In your heart you know the right decision to make, for yourself and for the kingdom—the two needn't be at odds. Trust your instincts and be bold."


	10. Chapter 10

Just a heads up that there are only two chapters and an epilogue left after this. Hang in there, kids!

* * *

The noise and heat of the forge felt like home as he leaned in. "Master Davey?"

"Good day, Lord Hiccup." The smith set aside his tongs and bowed fractionally; Hiccup fidgeted uncomfortably.

"It's just Hiccup. 'Lord' makes it sound worse, which is not something I ever thought was possible," he added under his breath. He set a roll of papers on the worktop. "Here are the designs, as promised."

"Thank you."

"Since I'm here, can I ask you one more favor?"

"Of course." He lent Hiccup an apron and stoked the fire as the younger man grinned, pushed up his sleeves, and got to work.

* * *

Could it be true, that what she wanted could also be what the kingdom needed? It needed a queen whose consort would not only provide the necessary heirs but also support her rule, help her to be strong and wise. Merida needed more than a playmate; she needed a partner. Someone to demand that she be the best ruler she could, but also someone to care for her while she was busy caring for the kingdom. Someone she might grow to love, and who might love her back.

She'd been thinking too much. For weeks, months her brain had been working, weighing possibilities, trying to predict outcomes until nothing made sense. And then suddenly it had made sense, though she'd kept on second-guessing herself. Be yourself, Mum had said. Be bold. Trust your instincts.

It was about time she listened to her mother.

Angus made short work of the path to their campsite on the shore. He sniffed the air and tossed his head, likely nervous at the smell of the dragons; she dismounted, calling him a craven beast. Then he whinnied and reared back as Toothless bounded toward them, eyes wide and tongue lolling, looking far friendlier than a fantastical creature of the night should do.

"Hello, Toothless." He butted her playfully and Merida laughed. "This is Angus. Angus, ye great dafty, this is Toothless."

Angus was not impressed. He snorted as Toothless cocked his head, nostrils flaring as he whirred curiously.

"Where's your boy, then?" she asked, scratching beneath Toothless' chin. "I want to speak to him."

Toothless craned his neck back the way he'd come from and let out a gravelly yowl. She wasn't sure if he was indicating where Hiccup was, or calling for him.

Evidently it was the latter; Hiccup shouted "Coming!" and emerged from the tent a moment later, rubbing a cloth over his damp hair. It looked like he'd dressed with some haste, and she felt unusually warm all of a sudden. Toothless nosed her side until she resumed scratching him again, though more distractedly than before.

Hiccup looked at Toothless next to her, and Angus in the background. "If you're planning to offer some kind of trade, it's not gonna happen. You can keep the horses; I'll stick with dragons," he said.

"Do. It's safer for all of us." She kept a straight face while she spoke, her tone earnest, but then the façade cracked and she smiled. Part of him—and not a small part—wanted to go to her, trace the curve of her mouth with his thumb, tangle his hands in her abundant hair, find the pulse in her neck with his lips and make it race. He hoped he could control himself until he found out why she'd come to see him, though. She gave Toothless one more scratch before she stepped forward, toward where he stood grinning crookedly.

Despite knowing he should let her speak first, Hiccup said, "I made you something. And I wanted you to have it, even if…you know." He scratched the back of his neck. "Something to remember me by, if nothing else." He fumbled in his pocket.

Damn it, she'd had what she wanted to say all prepared. She'd been ready to be cordial and genuine and controlled, to make her offer and explain her reasons, if necessary. They'd have a mature, responsible conversation, and then he'd answer. No scenario she'd imagined had included his hair glowing coppery in the sunlight, or his tendency to be disarmingly charming when she least expected it, or his blasted thoughtfulness and skill with his hands. Damn him. He was ruining everything.

"Will you marry me?" she blurted out. His eyes widened in shock.

Any second now she was going to take it back. She must've gotten him confused with someone else, or had skipped the part where she asked him to help her practice proposing to the real lucky guy. All of those possibilities were more likely than the one where she'd actually meant to ask him.

When she didn't recant he had to ask. "Are you sure? I'm not going to get any better than this, if that's what you were hoping…"

"You are," she insisted, face red. "That is, you don't need to, because you're already wonderful, but you'll still get better. And you'll make me better, too."

"You're pretty great right now."

It was a compliment, that much was obvious from the warmth in his voice, but it wasn't a yes. Her eyes dropped to study the shore. "I understand if you don't want to…"

"No, I want to. Me wanting to is not the problem." That sounded much more promising, and she felt her spirits bob upward. "It's…"

"If I want to," she supplied. "If I'm choosing you of my own free will, or simply because you're the…lesser evil."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," he said, crossing his arms.

She ignored his tone. When she looked up, she saw his expression flickering between hope and doubt, a doubt that she understood all too well and wanted to dispel, and a hope that fluttered inside her chest as well. "I assume you aren't thinking anything stupid, like that I'm only asking you for the sake of making an alliance, or I'm only interested because of your dragon."

"That had crossed my mind." Along with an image of Astrid jabbing a finger at him and telling him with her typical no-nonsense snarl not to embarrass the tribe.

"Make no mistake: I do want an alliance with your tribe." She took a step toward him, advancing steadily with each statement, growing more confident the closer she got. "I do love Toothless and flying. I do think you'll be a brilliant king. I do want to kiss you again, and more. And I do like you better than any other man I know." By now they stood toe to toe; Hiccup kept his arms crossed firmly over his chest to stop his hands from giving in to the temptation of her waist, her hips, right there and begging to be caressed. He forced himself to focus on her words.

"Just like?"

She couldn't say the other thing. Not yet. Not even if it was creeping steadily toward the tip of her tongue as he stared down at her, amused and most likely more eager than he meant to appear. "It's only been two weeks," she said helplessly, hoping that he'd understand. "But an awful lot."

No other man had ever known her so well. Had it been anyone else she would have fled, kept him from getting close enough to hurt her, and even now her heart beat against her ribs like a frightened bird. But Hiccup wouldn't hurt her. He hadn't let her drop from Toothless' back, harness or no; he wouldn't let her fall now, or ever. Her trust in him was unhesitating. The realization of it would have shocked her, but the alternative, not trusting him, pushing him away, was no alternative at all.

"Would you feel the same way if you were a laundress and I was a blacksmith?"

If that were the case she'd have more time—she wouldn't have to rush to choose like this. She'd be able to wait until she loved him wholeheartedly. He knew that. But even then she would want to be by his side. Blacksmith or dragon trainer or chieftain's son, it made no difference; there was no better man, and if he'd agree to marry her she'd be more fortunate than she'd ever thought possible. She nodded, looking up at him through her eyelashes, and he exhaled shakily.

"I should have known I wasn't going to get the chance to say what I practiced," he said, with a breathless laugh.

She twisted her fingers together to hide their trembling, hoped he couldn't hear the pounding of her heart. "And what was that?"

"That I would understand and I'd make sure Stoick agreed to an alliance with your dad no matter who you chose. But I was going to casually put it out there that it should be me you picked, because I kind of like you a lot and I'd hate it if you married one of those other guys. Or anyone else, really." If he was nervous, it didn't show, not through the half-smile he graced her with; for just a second she marveled that there was a girl in Berk who had known him and somehow managed not to fall in love with him. "And I made you this."

He'd had to estimate the size, though it hadn't been hard with the memory of her fingers twined with his. When the metal had cooled he'd filed the roughest edges and cleaned it up a bit, but it was obvious that the ring had started its life as a horseshoe nail. She recognized it right away and took the ring from him, slipping it onto the third finger of her left hand and admiring it contentedly. Though the metal glinted faintly in the sunlight, the thick band was a stark contrast to her pale, slim hand, hands her mum had always praised for their elegance. As symbols went, the ring was perfect.

"What do you think?" she asked, holding out her hand for him to see.

He gave it the briefest of glances, enough to satisfy his professional ego by seeing that it fit decently well, before he caught her hand and squeezed it tight. "Merida," he said through a mouth that felt like he'd been gargling sand, "I would be happy to marry you." It felt like the truest thing he'd ever said, even if part of him begged leave to say more.

He'd given her no title, put no condition on the statement. She had never felt less like the princess, or more like herself, and as he kissed her she had no doubt that she'd picked the right man.

* * *

There were fewer people present than had crowded the hall a fortnight ago. Or, rather, fewer strangers; it seemed that most of the servants had taken leave of their duties to hear the announcement. Like as not there were drinks and small stacks of coins depending on her choice. She nearly smirked at the thought.

Her dad stood; a hush fell. She felt a pair of invisible hands seize her throat. She had to stop this—she'd made a mistake. It would just take a moment to fix it. Otherwise the consequences would haunt her forever, and she wouldn't be able to bear it. She turned to her dad to ask him to wait, just for a bit, for the last chance to act.

Unfortunately he took the movement as his cue to start. "Princess Merida, have you chosen?"

Too late. It was too late to stop from hurting him. "I have."

She looked out at the people staring back at her. They were all watching expectantly; she tried not to focus on any one face, especially not his. Without seeing him she knew that he'd look too hopeful for her to stand. "It has been our privilege to host you all. We are honored by the respect and esteem you have shown us. Thank you." She bowed her head to them, grateful that she'd practiced the words in her room. Had she not done so, they would have stayed stuck under the lump in her throat.

_All at once_, she thought; _the longer you wait, the worse it will be_. "I choose Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III."

Murmurs swept through the assembly, along with a few cheers, some of which were from her brothers. Stoick patted his son's back firmly; Hiccup gave him a brief smile before grinning up at Merida. His easy enthusiastic reaction helped ease her trepidation, and she smiled back.

"Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, do you accept?" Fergus asked. "Will you marry the princess?"

His grin grew wider. "Yes." The cheers were more confident as Fergus waved him forward and Hiccup stepped up onto the dais.

He was perfectly happy to stare at Merida with a goofy smile on his face as she blushed and smiled back, but the king directed them to face the hall. "My lords, the princess has declared her choice of husband. Will you accept this man as her consort?" _Or will we have a problem?_ loomed unsaid.

Hiccup braced himself for the inevitable outburst from Lord Macintosh. An air of collective confusion filled the room when he glanced briefly at his son, who appeared unperturbed by the princess' rejection, and said, "Aye, Your Majesty."

That left Lord MacGuffin, and all eyes slid to where he stood with his son. The smile disappeared from her face when she saw Domnall's expression. The hope had gone; for a second his features crumpled, like a great weight had fallen on him. Then just as quickly his expression shuttered, a stoic mask settling into place. MacGuffin didn't look at his son. "We will abide by our word and respect the princess' choice."

"Good."

It took much too long for the hall to clear. The former suitors had to thank the king and queen for their hospitality and Merida for her kind attention as they said their goodbyes. A few stopped to congratulate Hiccup and Stoick as well, the chieftain having moved to stand at the foot of the dais, below his son.

Lord Macintosh's eyebrows indicated that he was grumpy but resigned. Merida smiled at Ewan. "Thank you for coming, and for letting me see your horse. I hope you find someone to give his sister to."

"I'm sure I will," he said cockily. Then he winked.

To Hiccup he said, "You won more than fair. Good luck with her." They shook hands.

Lord MacGuffin bowed stiffly. Twisting her hands in front of her Merida stepped toward the men. "Domnall—"

"Don't. Please." The words felt like a blow to her stomach and she flinched. He went on, shaking his head. "It's my own fault. I was stupid to hope. There was never any real chance that you'd pick me."

She choked out the words, desperate for him to hear. "There was. Right to the end, there was. Domnall, I'm sorry I didn't tell you first, in private. I didn't mean—"

"To hurt me?" Their gazes met; his expression was flat, but she wouldn't soon forget the pain in his eyes. Tears tracked down her cheeks, though she wasn't the one with cause to cry.

The sight of Merida crying wasn't something Hiccup was prepared for. He wanted to pry her fingers away from each other and hold her hand, but he wasn't sure if that would offend her. And he didn't want to rub it in that she'd picked him. Young MacGuffin looked pretty upset, in a fairly contained way, but that didn't mean he wouldn't snap.

He bowed, muttering, "Your Highness." A strangled noise just short of a sob escaped her mouth.

Despite the dreadful shaking of her limbs, she stayed rooted where she stood until they'd gone. Then, when only her family and future family were left in the hall, she threw her hands up to cover her face and rushed out of the room. "Merida," Hiccup called, taking a step to follow, but she didn't even slow.

"I'll go," Elinor said.

She found Merida weeping in her room. Elinor knelt on the floor next to her and gathered the girl in her arms, crooning quietly and rubbing her back. It was the most emotion the girl had shown in weeks, and for that Elinor was thankful, even if the emotion was sorrow.

Before she was able to speak clearly Merida sobbed out, "Even when I try to do the right thing, it goes wrong."

"Shh." She wanted to tell Merida that it would all be fine, that Domnall would recover sooner or later and find someone else to marry, but she knew her daughter wouldn't be appeased by what she thought were platitudes, no matter how true they were. Elinor stroked her hair gently until Merida's breathing calmed. Then Elinor admitted, "I'm glad you picked Hiccup."

Merida looked up, all shiny red nose and streaming eyes. The girl never did have a handkerchief with her. "Really?"

Her mum nodded. "For selfish reasons, to be honest. I'd never have been able to forgive myself if you picked someone other than the man you love out of a sense of duty."

"I don't love him," she claimed, chin wobbling.

It was possible that she truly believed that, Elinor thought, but more probable that she was stubbornly refusing to admit it for some reason that the queen could not begin to fathom. Now was not the time to try to convince Merida otherwise, though.

"Do you regret choosing him?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. But I regret hurting Domnall. I should have told him before, in private. He didn't deserve to find out that way." Her voice took on a nearly-hysteric edge as she asked, "And now what if I've humiliated Clan MacGuffin and they break ties with us?"

"Then they would not be men of their word," Elinor said firmly. "But as they are, you needn't worry about that. You're right. You've hurt someone who did you no harm, and you ought to feel guilty about it." Merida stiffened and drew back. "If you didn't feel badly about it, you'd be no better than a mindless beast, and I'd be ashamed of you. I don't expect you to punish yourself forever; once you've apologized properly you have to let go of the guilt. Let go, but remember how you feel now. Remember the grief, and let the memory guide you in the future."

Eventually Merida mumbled, "Should have known you'd turn it into a lesson." Elinor kissed her forehead and tilted her face up, smiling tenderly at her daughter, happy to see her smiling back even if her nose was running.

"Come on." Elinor stood, stifling a groan as her knees creaked and brushing dust from her skirt. She took Merida's and pulled her to her feet. "Wash your face and let's get back. We can't have the men planning your wedding without us."

* * *

Fergus didn't miss the way the lad's head snapped up when Elinor and Merida returned. In their absence the three men had moved to sit around a table; Hiccup was restless, his leg jiggling beneath the table. The lad looked more worried than a newly-betrothed person ought to, but then again, his bride-to-be _had_ just run from the room crying. Fergus hoped she wouldn't change her mind. Oh, he'd do what needed to be done if she did, but it would be an awkward, uncomfortable process, even more awkward and uncomfortable than sitting silently with his possible future son-in-law and the boy's father, waiting for his wife and daughter to return. He exchanged a look with Stoick, who shrugged as minutely as a man of his size could.

Then Elinor swept in and saved him, calling for wine and saying, "Before we discuss the particulars of the betrothal, let's drink to our children's happiness." Hiccup shot to his feet, looking past the queen at Merida; her eyes were dry and she managed a smile as she took a seat across from him.

Hiccup could honestly say that he'd never given any thought to wedding planning before. It sounded more complicated than preparing for one of the old trips to find the dragons' nest, and about as exciting. The only thing that was important to him—besides who he'd be marrying—was having the ceremony on a Friday, to ensure that Frigga blessed the marriage, even if it was in Scotland; Stoick backed him up, and at their combined insistence the others agreed. As the discussion went on Hiccup tuned their parents' voices out in favor of trying not to stare at Merida and wondering if she'd changed her mind. Yesterday she'd seemed so sure, and happy; then after the announcement she'd been so upset. Was it because now she had to get married, ready or not? Was it him—had she realized that someone else was a better choice, and now it was too late? Was—

Under the table he felt a foot nudging the sole of his boot. He looked up to see Merida's hands folded atop the table, left over right, a ring on her finger that hadn't been there earlier. His eyes darted up to hers, sparkling now, and the shy curve of her lips, and a slow smile spread over his own face in return.


	11. Chapter 11

Thank you guys for the reviews, favorites, follows, and recommendations. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story, and I hope you like this chapter!

**Be forewarned:** this chapter takes a brief detour into T+/M- territory. It's nothing too scandalous, but it's there.

* * *

Stoick left at first light, heading back to Berk for some things Hiccup might need in the following days, clothes and a barrel of mead among them; he'd return in time for the ceremony. If Hiccup thought that the hard part was done once Merida picked him, or that he'd actually get to spend time with his fiancée before the wedding, he'd been wrong.

So, so wrong.

He spent his mornings with the queen, cramming years of royal etiquette into his brain: when to stand up and sit down, which nobles were which and what to call them, how to bow and dance. He tried to argue that his leg would keep him from dancing, but Elinor merely fixed him with a look that communicated how much nonsense she knew his excuse was. Hiccup dutifully danced with a parade of female servants, though despite his own doubts it didn't take long before he could get through a song without having to wince and apologize.

The afternoons he passed with the king and the princes, supposedly talking about history and military tactics but really doing a lot of swordfighting and flying. Fergus wasn't entirely happy with the idea of his daughter getting married, but it seemed like more of a generalized upset than anything against Hiccup himself. Then again, a few of the bruises he got suggested otherwise. The triplets were madly in love with Toothless; if Hiccup didn't watch out, they would feed him sweets until he was sick.

At any other time he wouldn't have minded all the lessons, but more than anything else he wanted time with Merida. Just to make sure she was still okay with it all, with him. If he found himself with nothing to do, there was no guarantee that she'd be free at the same time; she was as busy as he was, if not busier. And when he saw her at dinner they were surrounded by her family, which didn't really strike him a good time to ask if she regretted her decision.

Whatever other time he had free was spent on making Merida's wedding present—the ring didn't count, since she already had it. Besides, it'd been quick work. Her real present would be smithing that would make Gobber proud. He definitely owed Master Davey a barrel of something strong for letting him invade the forge.

* * *

When the boys were born Fergus had been proud, though understandably surprised. It wasn't often that a mother was delivered of triplets without any of them succumbing; Elinor had always been just as healthy and strong as he was, though, and their bairns were born fighters. He'd been able to cradle the three of them cupped in his two hands, their heads already sporting reddish fluff.

But however much he loved his troublesome sons, it was his firstborn who'd stolen his heart. He'd been wonderstruck on first holding Merida, who'd squalled until her daddy whispered hello; then she'd quietened, gazing at him with enormous eyes the color of the loch, and he'd smiled gently through the tears welled up in his eyes. The two were perfectly matched, to Elinor's frequent despair.

And now he had to give her away.

"She's no' my wee lassie anymore, Elinor."

In the morning his girl would marry. Even knowing that she and her new husband would be staying in a suite in the castle, even liking the lad as much as he did, Fergus still wasn't looking forward to the ceremony. He'd known this day would come eventually, but that foreknowledge didn't make the act any easier.

"She'll always be your wee lassie," Elinor assured him. "Just because she's getting married doesn't mean she'll stop loving us as well."

"Aye, but it won't be the same." He sighed gustily. "Do you think she loves him?"

"If she doesn't already, she will. And the same for him, if I'm not mistaken."

"You rarely are." He didn't disbelieve her, but he seemed petulant all the same.

Though Merida hadn't confided in her dad the way she had in her mum, Elinor had told Fergus all the things she'd said about her decision, and all the things she hadn't had to say, the smiles and blushes and far-off looks her mother had seen. "She's chosen for herself, not just for the kingdom."

"I just want her to be happy."

Elinor wrapped her arms around her husband firmly. "I know, love. And I truly believe she is, and will be. But our girl's grown. We must trust in her and believe in her. And him."

Fergus laid his cheek against the top of Elinor's head, his arms encircling her. He let her tranquil strength buoy him, as it had done so many times before; but a tear slid from his eye nonetheless.

* * *

The ceremony itself passed in a blur. All he would remember was Merida, gorgeous and glowing, facing him, smiling as he pledged himself to her, sealing the marriage with a kiss just a touch too enthusiastic to be proper. She liked the present, too, a long Viking-style dagger complete with a tooled leather scabbard; just beneath the hilt he'd etched in runes _I was made for Merida by her husband Hiccup_.

The feast that followed felt as familiar as he could have hoped. There were enormous amounts of food, juicy roasts and fine white bread and tender vegetables; Toothless had even been served a pile of fresh-caught fish, though for the sake of everyone else's appetites he ate outside the walls before joining the other revelers in the great hall. Merida encouraged Hiccup to try the haggis, and chortled at the face he made when he took a big bite. Once he'd choked it down he glared at her, but she just smiled sweetly and patted his hand. As she did, he twisted it and caught hers, clasping it gently, and she turned pink. Then, impulsively, he raised their hands and brushed his lips against her knuckles, looking up into her eyes, noting with satisfaction the way she flushed completely, the way her eyelids fluttered, the way her fingers tightened around his.

After the dinner was cleared away there was dancing and drinking and laughter. Merida danced with anyone who asked, including Stoick; Hiccup nearly spat a mouthful of ale across the table at the sight of his father leaping _almost_ in time with the music. At the end of his dance with his new mother-in-law, she beamed at him as proudly as if he were her own son.

Before she knew it midnight had passed and everyone was standing, drinks held aloft, and her dad was making a toast to their wedding, the alliance, and generations to come. Merida forced herself not to react, even when she caught sight of Ewan Macintosh smirking behind his mug. Her parents embraced her, Stoick smiled beatifically, and even her brothers deigned to kiss her cheeks. Then a pair of chambermaids bearing candelabra preceded her up the stairs; as she climbed a familiar heavily accented voice called, "Three cheers for the Princess Merida!" and the hall rang with huzzahs.

The maids ushered her to a room that seemed miles away from her own. A small fire was lit in the hearth; on a table near it was a basin of water and a towel, while another table held a pitcher, probably full of the honey wine they were supposed to share, and two goblets. As the maids moved around the room she tried to look at anything in the room but the bed; when one of them began to pluck at her dress, the other standing by with a richly-embroidered nightgown, she batted them away and willed her stomach to calm. Eventually they gave up trying to undress her and departed with curtseys. No sooner had the door closed behind them than it opened again and Hiccup—her _husband_—came in. He looked lost and hesitant and more handsome than ever.

Then from across the room he smiled, the same shy look he'd given her a decade ago as he'd stumbled from a longship onto the dock down at the loch, the smile that held the hope of friendship. All these years and he was still as quick and kind as he'd been as a child, though now he was so much more: taller, stronger, more knowledgeable, more experienced.

The realization of that last change nearly overwhelmed her. It was obvious, so obvious all of a sudden, that the first time he'd kissed her hadn't been the first time he'd kissed anyone, that he'd had far more practice than she had. The question of if he had ever gone further than kissing back in Berk stirred up a venomous churning in her stomach, and she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle to calm the feeling. He noticed, of course, and frowned in concern. To hide her growing apprehension she turned to the table and willed her hands to be steady as she filled a goblet halfway.

Over her shoulder she asked, "Wine, my lord?" The voice sounded controlled, formal, nothing like her own.

She hadn't heard him move but he was suddenly beside her, a hand on her elbow turning her gently to face him. "It's just me, Merida," he said, voice soothing as his eyes searched her face. "I'm still me. I'm not a lord or a prince or whatever they want to call me; I'm still just Hiccup. And I'm pretty sure you—" He squeezed her arm gently, and she felt the warmth of his hand even through the fabric of her sleeve, and wondered distantly how his callused fingertips would feel against the soft skin underneath. "—are still the girl who fought off a castle full of warriors to protect her mom, and who snorts when she laughs too hard, and who once tricked a poor confused Viking boy into trying to milk a pig."

"I forgot about that," she said, feeling lighter.

"I didn't. The pig _sat_ on me."

She'd roared with laughter as he squirmed out from beneath the sow, who had not yet been full-grown and posed little real danger to him. He'd been absolutely covered in muck; when she wouldn't stop laughing he'd flung a handful at her, only managing to splatter the hem of her skirt.

Then she'd reached down and pulled him to his feet, led him by one filthy hand to a trough and scraped the biggest clumps of mud from his face before gleefully ducking his head under the water. That time his retaliation had been much more effective; her dress had been soaked and muddy water ran down his face as the young pig keeper had escorted them back to the castle.

He was as indignant now as if it'd happened yesterday and she laughed, finally looking up at him. His eyes glittered with amusement and a host of other emotions she couldn't work out, at least not yet, in their depths.

She offered him one of the goblets. "Since it's already poured, would you like some wine, Hiccup?"

"Not really, but it's tradition." He studied the goblet for a moment, running a thumb over the knotwork etched in the silver, tilting it to catch the light. "This is nice. Did Master Davey do it?"

Trust Hiccup to be more interested in metalwork than alcohol. Or tradition. "I have no idea. You know him better than I do."

"I've never gotten to do anything this nice." He sounded wistful.

Along with the wine she now sipped and a chest crammed full of some of Hiccup's things, Stoick had brought a fine golden band back from Berk. From her new father-in-law's teary eyes as Hiccup slid the ring onto her finger, she suspected that it must have belonged to Hiccup's mum. It was beautiful, flawless and softly shining against the pale skin of her hand; it was a ring fit for royalty, for someone who never had to work or fight. But _her_ ring was the one on her right hand, the solid circle of iron he'd made for her, the one he'd given her the first time she'd asked him to marry her. "I like what you've done," she said, raising that beringed hand and the cup it held. He noticed, the way he noticed everything, and smiled, and drank too, their eyes not straying from each other's.

Once his glass was empty he stepped toward the table to set it down, eliciting what seemed to his ears a harsh squeak in the quiet. His expression clouded. "Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked.

"Of course not."

He perched on the edge of the bed and blew out a quiet breath. He stared at his feet for a moment, then looked up, not quite meeting her eyes. "I didn't think about this part," he said as if to himself. It took her a few seconds to understand.

In the days between the betrothal and the wedding he had thought a lot about this night: about kissing her without having to stop, about finally getting to touch her, about falling asleep beside her. Not once had he thought about the moment when he'd have to take his leg off in front of her, let her see the unattractively scarred stump—no matter what they said back home about scars being cool, even though Snotlout and Tuff and Ruffnut swore that girls loved guys with them, he didn't really believe it was true about his. Sure, her dad was missing his leg, so it wasn't anything new to her, but he didn't want to deal with it right now. He didn't want her to think back to their wedding night and remember what would certainly be the shock of seeing his stump for the first time.

She sat down on the bed, leaving a swath of counterpane between them. She couldn't remember him ever looking so troubled, and wondered if she should tell him that she didn't think any less of him for missing the leg. Surely he had to know that, though. Her dad had been an amputee for most of her life now; she'd seen him suffer through the worst of it, the aftermath of losing it when infection had threatened to take his life, the times it ached so badly that it took his breath away, and she'd learned what she could do to help. She'd never expected to owe thanks to Mor'du for so much, but the bear had made her a better daughter, and now might make her a better wife.

"Do you want—" she began, at the same time that he said, "Can you—" They glanced at each other, and he smiled weakly.

"Can we talk about it later, maybe?" he asked, trying not to sound too desperate. She nodded, and they lapsed into silence again.

Absently she ran her hand over the fabric beneath her. The curiosity she'd had when he came into the room returned, more insistent than before now that they were on the bed. There'd never been a time when she had been alone in a bedroom with a man who wasn't related to her; now she was very much alone with him, and they had one final part of the wedding ceremony to complete. Earlier that week her mum had sat her down and explained in detail what Merida already knew the general gist of. She would have been positively gleeful at seeing her mum so ill at ease if she hadn't also been mortified by the conversation. Still, she'd paid more attention and asked more questions, albeit with cheeks crimson, than she had at any other lesson she could remember.

Maybe Hiccup was just as inexperienced as she was. What would she do if he wasn't? He said he hadn't been in love with the girl in Berk, but he wasn't in love with her, either. The answer might upset her, she knew, but the words escaped anyway. "Hiccup, did you and your girl ever…" She couldn't bring herself to finish the question. He understood; the heat of her flush and the way she had her eyes firmly trained on her hands in her lap made it obvious.

"No." There'd been more than one night when he'd silently cursed Astrid for making him wait. Even now, even though he was glad that Merida would be the first for him as he would for her, he wished he'd had some practice, knew what to expect and what to do, for her sake. But she seemed relieved, if only a little, and it made him feel better to know that he wasn't the only one who had concerns tonight.

"I'm glad," she admitted, quietly, a small smile on her face.

"We don't have to right away," he offered. It sounded half-hearted and unconvincing to his own ears. It had to happen sooner or later, both of them knew that; he just didn't want his eagerness to put her off.

"We should." That was wrong—well, it was true, but it wasn't what she meant. She didn't want him to think she was agreeing just because a consummation was expected, or because it was her duty as a wife. He had to know that it was more than that. She met his eyes; the concern on his face bolstered her resolve and made her heart swell with affection. She meant it when she said, "I want to."

He pressed his lips to her temple and the words almost bubbled out of her then, drawn by his kindness. Merida turned, held his face in her hands, and kissed him the best she knew how, sweetly at first, gratefully, but then with mounting need as he responded, pulling her closer, hands trailing down her back, over her hips.

From there it all came more or less naturally: lying on the unfamiliar bed, eyes half closing as he kissed her neck; sliding her hands beneath his tunic and helping him pull it over his head, tracing the tattoo-less skin over his heart with a grin on her face; giggling as he struggled, muttering curses, to free her from the layers of dress and corset and untold underthings; gasping at the look of wonder in his eyes when he saw her bare, gasping again as he slipped inside.

* * *

It was actually the absence of noise that woke Hiccup. Normally an impatient dragon would have demanded his attention by now, and for a minute he wondered where Toothless was and why his dad hadn't woken him yet. In the dark grey light of the summer sun dawning behind shutters pulled tight he saw that he wasn't on the beach by the lake, or in his bedroom in Berk, but in a room he hadn't set foot into before last night. White linens covered the bed; the wide mattress beneath him was almost too soft and yielding after a lifetime of sleeping on a simple plank bed or occasionally outdoors. He shifted cautiously, rolling onto his side in the cocoon of quiet, and stared at the girl in bed with him.

Merida lay curled on her side, facing him. Her lips were parted and her eyes closed; she looked young and sweet. They were married. He'd been so sure that she wouldn't choose him, and then scared that she wouldn't, and then surprised that she had, and now they were married. They'd made all the vows and oaths and exchanged rings and gifts and done the physical consummation.

That had been…good, yeah. Not that he had any basis for comparison, but it had certainly been pleasant on his end, even if it had been over pretty quickly. Some of the things his dad had pulled him aside to tell him surfaced in his brain. He hadn't been particularly interested in Stoick's advice at the time—it was equal parts skin-crawling and without context—but now that he had some idea what was going on, he'd admit that maybe his dad knew what he was talking about.

He would do better next time.

It was a strange feeling, being married to someone you were in love with but who wasn't in love with you. He couldn't even tell her that he loved her, at least not yet; she'd been through a lot recently, and he didn't want to cause her any more stress. At least she liked him, thank Freya for that. Last night, after, she had pushed the hair away from his forehead and gazed at him, eyes silvery as her fingers traced his features, seeming just about to speak for some long moments. In the end she'd dropped her hand to his shoulder, and he'd settled his in the dip of her waist and fallen asleep.

Now her hands lay on the bed between them, clutched together. He put one of his hands next to hers, reached out a finger to touch her lightly, whispered the words to see how they would sound. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep once more.


	12. Chapter 12

See if you can spot the veeeery subtle nod to Iabri's Mericcup comic. If you haven't seen it yet, go look: upon-a-gray-dawn dot tumblr dot com /post /62849225238/ i- just- randomly- got- the- urge- to- draw- hiccup- with  
Can't wait for part three, Iabri! :)

* * *

She willed herself to stay asleep as long as she could, but her stomach was rebelling, grumbling its demand for food. She threw one hand over it and the other over her eyes, and then started at the quiet chuckle next to her. She hadn't forgotten about him; she just wasn't used to someone else, or anyone beside her mum, being there when she woke up.

"Morning," he said, voice gravelly. Funny how that made her stomach churn in a different way than it had been doing.

"Good morning." She started to sit up and then froze, clutching the sheet to her chest. Right. She hadn't put her nightclothes on afterward, and unless he'd gotten up earlier, he was just as naked as she was. Hiccup gave her a sympathetic smile as he scooted up to lean against the headboard.

"Looks like this whole getting married thing will take some getting used to." He rubbed a hand over his eyes and then through his hair; it did nothing to tame his unexpectedly adorable bedhead. "I guess that's what the honeymoon is for."

_Among other things_, Merida thought, stealing a glance at his bare chest. She sat quietly, considering. To eat she'd have to go downstairs; to go downstairs she'd have to get dressed; to get dressed she'd have to get out of the bed. She couldn't very well ask him to leave while she dressed—he'd have the exact same problem she was currently having. What would her mum do? she mused.

She wouldn't be acting this ridiculous. They were _married_, for heaven's sake; he'd seen her without her clothes on the night before, and certainly would again, maybe even tonight. The memory of his eyes on her, his skin sliding against hers, his breath hitching in her ear made her tingle all over, warmth blooming deep in her belly to fill every part of her. Before shyness could take hold again she jumped out of bed and whipped the sheet free in one movement, ignoring Hiccup's yelp as she wrapped the fabric around herself. She paraded toward the washroom with a triumphant grin on her face, pausing at the door to peek back at him; he had a very red face and a pillow strategically positioned over his lap, and she giggled.

After a quick wash she pulled a clean shift on and returned to the bedroom, where Hiccup was seated at the edge of the bed. "Can you come here?" he asked quietly, and she left off rifling through the wardrobe to join him. He'd put on a pair of linen undershorts and his leg rested across his knees; he patted the bed on his left side and she sat as he explained it all, showed her how to fit the socket to his leg and do up all the straps. She listened and watched intently, though she might have to see him fasten it a few more times before she got it right. When he finished he stood and looked down at her with a nervous expression, and she got to her feet and hugged him firmly, sighing a little when he returned the embrace.

Had her stomach not protested, she would have been happy to stay in his arms much longer; but she pressed a quick kiss to his lips and stepped away to finish getting dressed. He followed her example, finding a tunic and pants and tugging them on. As he watched her comb her fingers through her hair and move toward the door a feeling of trepidation washed through him.

"We don't really have to go down there, do we?" He could think of nothing more mortifying than facing Merida's parents when they knew what he'd done with their daughter last night. They liked him, he was pretty sure, but he didn't want to push his luck.

"That's where the food is. I'm starving, and I bet you are, too. I hope you don't think I'm going to fetch you anything," she added with a glance over her shoulder.

He was new to this marriage business, but he wasn't stupid. "No, but…"

She paused with her hand on the door. "Do you have a better idea?"

He had a window and a dragon.

* * *

When midday came and went with no sign of them, Elinor had to check. They were fine, she was sure of it, just embarrassed; she remembered all too well the unimpressed look on her mother-in-law's face when she and Fergus had attended breakfast the morning after their wedding. Elinor hoped Hiccup wasn't as terrified of her as she had been of the previous Lady DunBroch.

Outside the door she listened for a moment, but within all was quiet. She knocked, gently at first and then more forcefully, finally rising to a volume that not even her daughter could sleep through. Then worry began to gnaw at her, and she put out a hand and hesitantly tried the door; she found it unlocked when she lifted the latch.

"Merida?" she called through the gap. "Hiccup? Are you all right?" There was still no answer, so she opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was still. The bed was empty and unmade, the bathroom unoccupied; Merida's wedding dress was draped carelessly over a chair and the wardrobe was ajar. It was strangely comforting that even with so many changes in their lives, some things about her daughter and her habits hadn't changed. Elinor peeked inside to see her daughter's second-sturdiest pair of shoes missing. She was certain that if she looked in the chest of clothes Stoick had brought back it would be missing one workaday outfit.

It was possible they'd managed to sneak downstairs and out of the castle somehow, though the triplets had been watching all of the stairs carefully, hoping for a chance to, as they put it, _welcome_ their new brother-in-law to the family properly. Elinor didn't want to consider what kind of mischief they might have in mind for the poor lad. The shutters were flung open to a day bright despite the clouds, and she went to the window and looked out. They hadn't climbed down, and it wasn't as if they could… fly…

She pulled the shutters closed and barred them securely.

* * *

"And just where've you been, young lady?" her dad demanded as they walked into the great hall. Everyone else's dinner was already in front of them, but no one was eating; Fergus' arms were crossed over his chest, though Harris' fingers were creeping stealthily toward his bread.

"Dad." She slipped into her seat, trying not to blush. Hiccup took the only empty place left, between Merida and her mom.

Merida wasn't exactly sure what people were meant to do on their honeymoons, but speeding above the kingdom on a dragon struck her as fairly nontraditional. It suited them, though. After they'd glided away from the castle she'd demanded that Hiccup make good on his earlier promise and let her sit in front. They'd had to land to argue about it; he didn't think she had enough flying experience yet, but she countered that she wasn't asking to change gears or even steer, just to have a view that wasn't obscured by his big head. "My head is not big," he'd muttered as the dragon snickered and Merida clambered back onto Toothless' back, sitting near the front of the saddle. When Hiccup had climbed on behind her she'd reached back and taken his hands to settle them firmly around her stomach; then she'd leaned into his chest, turned her head, and kissed him on the cheek. "Your head isn't really big," she'd assured him before Toothless took off.

With her directions, Toothless had flown them to the ancient castle. The three of them spent the rest of the morning looking around the ruins, Merida relating the story of the long-ago kingdom to the others. Then they'd wandered through the forest to the river, where they competed to see who could catch the most fish—Toothless seemed to think he'd won, but Hiccup said that since he'd swallowed most of his before they had the chance to count, he had to forfeit.

They'd headed back to DunBroch in plenty of time for dinner, but upon alighting from Toothless' back Merida had discovered that her hair was a mess, far worse than usual. She'd learned that long periods of flying did her curls no favors; in the future she'd remember to plait it before she went for a ride. Even with Hiccup working on half of her head it had still taken them ages to make it anywhere near presentable; it hadn't helped that someone had locked the window to their room so she couldn't get to her combs.

And it may have delayed them somewhat when she let slip with a shivering sigh how good Hiccup's fingers felt in her hair. He'd smiled, somehow simultaneously mischievous and shy, and run his hands through the length of it until she purred like a kitten, her eyes closed in bliss. When he'd started to drop kisses lightly on her lips, still petting her hair, she was almost afraid it was all a dream, the best she'd ever had, and that she'd wake up to having to choose all over again.

Ah, well. If that were the case, at least she'd know who to pick, and she'd waste no time dithering about it.

"Sorry," he said now. "We didn't mean to make you wait."

Elinor picked up her fork. "We were just worried, dear. You did disappear with no warning, after all."

"I was with my _husband_, Mum," she said, though the exasperation in her tone was softened by the smile that crept onto her face on catching said husband grinning at his title. "And it is our honeymoon."

Her mum responded placidly, unmoved by Merida's assertion. "I am aware. Just let us know if you'll be joining us for meals, please."

"We will," Hiccup promised. When Merida opened her mouth to retort, he stuck a roll in it and smiled as her family laughed and she spluttered.

* * *

Despite the voice of reason urging him to give her time and space, he couldn't keep his mouth shut, though he did manage to hold it in until almost a week after the wedding. When it happened he blamed it on fatigue; he was half-asleep when it slipped out, as an addendum to wishing her good night. At first he thought she hadn't heard, but then she turned to him slowly, her expression difficult to read in the darkness.

"Do you really?" she asked quietly.

There wasn't much sense trying to deny it now. "Yeah." He smiled, suddenly wide awake as his stomach churned, hoping he hadn't crossed some line. "I was trying to wait and not throw it at you too soon. Sorry."

"It's quite all right," she said daintily. It would have been a great impression of her mother if it hadn't been followed by her snuggling her head against his shoulder. "You can say it if you like." So he said it again, and showed her as well.

* * *

It took a month and a half.

As the days after his confession passed she felt worse and worse for her failure to return his sentiments. And then, when it was obvious even to her that she did return them, it seemed too late to say it. She berated herself over her reluctance and cowardice, and woke up every day for a week telling herself that today would be the day she said it, failing each time.

It didn't stop them from enjoying their honeymoon. They went for rides, both on land and in the air, and hunted and fished; Merida tried to teach him to shoot. Some nights they slept outside, Toothless nearby snoring gently, the stars winking overhead. She saw more sunsets and sunrises that first month than in all the rest of her life combined. And, just like had happened before, their talking sometimes turned to kissing; but now the kissing sometimes turned to something more, something that seemed to get better every time.

It felt a little unfair, sometimes, touching him and being touched when she hadn't confessed her feelings, like she'd risked nothing and yet was reaping the rewards. If she stopped to think about it, that was exactly what she was doing. So she didn't think about it, but let him take her hand as they walked, or steal kisses after a ride; and she leaned into his side, wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her forehead between his shoulder blades, kissed the scar on his chin.

Toward the end of the month they began preparing to leave for Berk. Hiccup had arrangements to make for the dragon academy and the rest of his things to bring back, and Merida supposed she would have to attend to some formalities, meet with the chief and other leaders and assure them of DunBroch's friendship and support. She would gladly suffer through the duties for the opportunities that came with them: she was thrilled at the prospect of venturing outside her father's kingdom, visiting the place where Hiccup had grown up, and seeing more dragons.

She was also a little intimated by the idea of meeting the rest of the Hooligans. Not that she expected them to be hostile, but she was very aware that some of them might have a problem with the Highlander who'd seduced their best man away. When she confessed her worry one night as they lay in bed, Hiccup laughed quietly.

"Please." He stretched and then tucked one hand behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. "They'll want to keep you and send me back here."

"Don't worry, I won't let them get rid of you."

His head flopped over so he could look at her, eyes crinkled with his smile. "Why, do you like me or something?"

"Oh, no, not that," she assured him, shaking her head. "It's just that if you go back to DunBroch without me, Dad will assume the worst and attack Berk. I'd hate for our alliance to fall apart just because your people will like me better." She scooted closer, hoping he'd take the hint.

"Ha. I'll get Dad to write me a note first to explain it. That'll solve the problem." He smiled drowsily.

"Hiccup?"

"Yeah?" he asked, eyes closed.

"You know I…" She couldn't do it. Three words was all it was, three words that she'd said hundreds of times before; why did this time seem so important and so impossible? What a coward she was, and a fool. "I'm happy you said yes."

He finally rolled onto his side and dropped his arm across her waist, nuzzling into her hair. "I'm happy you asked me," he murmured, already drifting away to sleep.

* * *

Hiccup liked to think of himself as a rational person, able to think things through logically and usually pretty calmly. He knew that he couldn't expect her to reciprocate right away. They'd gotten close during the gathering, but she'd had a lot more to deal with than he had. It made sense that it would take her longer to adapt to her new situation, and to sort through all of her feelings, not just the ones about him. He should be happy that she liked him, that his declaration hadn't pushed her away, that she didn't demand that they sleep separately once their marital duties had been attended to, and he was happy for all of it. He was even fairly sure that she loved him. He just wished she'd say it so he knew for sure.

Stoick had advised him to give her time. It made Hiccup wonder what other good advice from his dad he'd brushed off or ignored outright over the years. When he went back to Berk, they were going to sit down and have a long talk. This time Hiccup would take notes.

* * *

The day before they were to leave, they spent the morning packing and preparing, bickering lightly about what things to take, Merida tossing clothes into bags and Hiccup taking them out again to fold. After a brief lunch, eaten outside in the sunshine, they returned to their work. Hiccup lifted a stack of clothes from a table and revealed a sheaf of papers covered in Master Davey's sketches. He needed to return them before they left, and turned to Merida, where she was opening a heavy chest.

"Do you mind if I go to the forge?"

He and the smith got on well—not as well as he did with Gobber, but well enough. Merida was glad he had something to keep his mind and his hands busy; he had lessons now, too, but he hadn't abandoned his hobbies. The people of DunBroch were slowly acclimating to the sight of a dragon flying overhead as well. She supposed the fact that both dragon and rider were devoted to their princess helped convince the Highlanders that the new additions to the royal family were trustworthy.

"Of course not."

"Great. I should be back soon." At her incredulous look he amended his statement. "Before dinner, at least."

"Just be careful, will you?" He'd come home (_home_, part of her still screamed wildly) a few days ago with a bruise running nearly the length of his forearm. She wasn't keen on having her rudimentary medical skills tested regularly, though she had to admit, he had taught her a lot about caring for minor injuries. "I know you're a daredevil and a mad genius, but the forge is no place for your experiments."

He tried to look innocent. "Me, a daredevil? Safety is my middle name." She snorted, not even bothering to look up from the chest she was knelt in front of. "Besides, the forge is the _only_ place for my experiments. Well, most of them. Not the ones involving Toothless, of course—okay, yeah, some of the ones involving Toothless, because he's—"

She laughed, cutting him off. "Forget I said anything. Just go."

"Done." He grinned cheekily, picked up the stack of plans, and leaned down to kiss her briefly before he carried on toward the door, calling, "See you later."

Though he couldn't see her, she nodded. "Alright. I love you."

There was a moment of perfect silence, the time between when he dropped the papers and when they hit the floor. It was long enough for her to realize what she'd said, and to smile, feeling light and free, unable to understand or even remember why she'd been so scared, scared of loving him, scared of admitting it. She loved him, every inch of him, with every bit of herself. She loved him for the boy he'd been, for the king and father he would be, and for the gobsmacked man he was right this instant, mouth hanging open.

"On second thought, it can wait," he said, just before he closed the distance between them and kissed her, the way he would go on doing for the next few hours, murmuring the words with every spare breath and grinning, shivering, rejoicing each time she repeated them, every touch of her lips, her tongue, her hands all the more exhilarating now her heart was laid bare.


	13. Epilogue

We've come to the end of the story. Thank you to everyone who read and followed, favorited, reviewed or recommended this story. I'm so pleased to have gotten over 100 reviews, and I'm even more pleased that so many people enjoyed the story. I really appreciate all your kind words, and I'm constantly amazed and humbled that anything I write could have such an impact on people.

I'd like to extend special thanks to the people who, whether they knew it or not, motivated, inspired, and encouraged me to write this the best I could (though for the sake of brevity I won't list all of them). But I would be remiss not to mention by name again Elfy, with whose general suggestion I took off running, and Mel, who made sure I didn't give in to doubt. Thank you, ladies; I wouldn't and couldn't have done it without you.

* * *

When the old Bear King died, passing from one world to the next in a peaceful slumber, his beloved wife by his side as she had ever been, the kingdom mourned. His sons and son-in-law had taken him on a hunting trip and he'd caught a chill; with it came a cough that set his lungs rattling. He never let on how bad it was, but kissed his grandchildren and his children and his wife good night, and woke into a brighter country than any he'd seen on earth.

His people remembered him with the feasts and fights and songs he had loved, and they celebrated him with their tears. For every tale told of his courage and strength, there were two of his kindness, his generosity, his jollity, his great love for the people he'd ruled and their land.

The lords of the clans gathered in the great hall of DunBroch. Lord Dingwall had become a brilliant tactician, inscrutable and canny, his vague smile a fright to enemies everywhere, who never knew convoluted plans lurked behind that deceptively dim expression. Just as before, Lord Macintosh did not lack for pride, but now the source of it was his territory and his clanspeople, rather than his own merits; he was still considered one of the greatest swordsmen in the land, though, and possessed a stable full of enviable horses, a pair of which he brought as a gift for the new queen and her consort. Lord MacGuffin remained as loyal a vassal as the monarchy had ever known, but his steadfast strength was tempered by aloofness, a guarded demeanor that few, save his cheerful, sturdy wife, could overcome. They were joined by a handful of Vikings from the king's homeland, proud and fierce, come to celebrate their kinsman's success and reaffirm their pact with the kingdom. The leader of their contingent was a woman as beautiful as she was capable. More than one Scotsman lost his heart to her, though few were bold (or mayhap foolhardy) enough to approach her with anything more than friendly overtures, and even those were cordially rebuffed. When she embraced the king, some people swore they heard her say, poking him in the ribs, "Told you so, didn't I?"

"I don't know why I ever doubted you," he was rumored to have returned, with a fond roll of his eyes.

Together the kingdom's subjects and guests watched as the new queen knelt before her mother, who lowered a crown onto her daughter's head. The auburn-haired heir to the throne stood nearby, with his sister hand-in-hand with their uncles; their younger brother was old enough to stand but preferred to watch from his father's arms. When the queen arose her husband set his son down and in turn knelt at his wife's feet to repeat the promises he had made years ago, promises to honor and guard her, to uphold her rule and protect her life with his own, and despite the sorrow of their loss and the solemnity of the ceremony she smiled at him. For a second the crowd assembled saw not the princess they had known or the queen they would serve, but a well-beloved woman with the man who held her heart; no one who saw the look that passed between them could ever doubt that she had chosen her companion and consort rightly.

Then the throng dropped to their own knees and swore their loyalty to her, as they had to her father. For her part, the queen pledged to the people and to their country her life, her service, and her strength. Her heart she could not promise, because it was no longer hers to give away, and had not been for many years.

And so in the decades to come the kingdom was prosperous and happy under her rule. Oh, it was not without conflict, not without threat or hardship; but it was also filled with an unmatched fervor and determination and love, inspired by the queen's passion and the king's curiosity—all in all rather a mirror of the monarchs' marriage, of fates entwined and the life together that they'd each chosen, a life and love they would not trade for anything in the wide world over.


End file.
